BioRhythmic Disonance

Are biorhythms real? (My spellcheck doesn't think so.) I don't mean natural cycles of sleep and wakefulness and morning people versus night people. I mean butterfingery, forgetful, walking into walls biorhythms. The ones that are completely out of whack with me for the last few days.
First, there was the ferocious PMS. Not that you, gentle reader, need to know the full details of my monthlies, suffice to say I was a horrible person last week. I saw red at the slightest irritation. The boys and M were cowering in fear. Even my friends politely pointed out (from afar) that I was not my social self. I found myself, on more than one occasion, sitting in a chair and growling at the world. That's not healthy.
Since then, though, I have been incredibly clumsy, forgetful, and altogether out of synch. There was the nightmarish experience of getting dressed for dinner the other night. Not a single thing in my closet was 1) appropriate for the occasion 2) fitting properly 3) cleaned 4) comfortable. I wound up in a standard shirt and nearly sweatsuit-fashioned linen pants.
Then, there was the scraping of the hand on the inside of the washing machine, of all things. So that now, despite the trash compactor incident scrape healing nicely, I have a whole new scrape on my hand.
Then there was a mysterious charge on my credit card that took hours to sort through. I explained to the woman thirty times that I did not know what an Acai Berry Colon Cleanse pill was, nor did I particularly wish to know (it sounds horrific), nor did I pay for it ($80, please!), nor did I receive it (thank goodness), nor do I wish to receive more (the horror!). Eventually, I broke down, yelled at her, and begged for a supervisor. He told me that per the terms of agreement, I had elected to receive another shipment. At which point I thought I was going to have a psychotic break. I explained to him that I had not agreed to the terms of agreement as I had not paid, received, or heard of his blessed product. Grrrr.
Yesterday, friends came over to swim. Which in and of itself did not really trigger any emotional anxiety on my part. But, when they left, I neglected to put the auto-vacuum-R2D2 thingie back in the pool. So, this morning at 4 AM, or whenever the timer kicks it on, all the water started flowing through the vacuum as it should, only it flowed out of the pool on to the yard, as it should not. By the time I got there at 6:30 (S slept in), the water level was tremendously low, the syphon in the filter had lost its suction, and the flower bed was flooded. Not good. Not good at all.
Then, there was the whole camera trauma. My SLR camera has been taking strange pictures lately. Or, rather, I have been taking pictures with strange light effects occurring in them. (It would be truly bizarre if the camera were taking pictures by itself.) A perfect halo forms on the left hand side of the prints. I searched on the Interwebs that all the kids use these days (and apparently, I searched inefficiently, as it took me forever to find a photographers' forum) to find experts who generally agreed that the shutter mechanism in the camera was failing. Canon assured me this would be fixable for $250. Which is not a good price, considering the problem would not be permanently fixed. I learned that shutters on my Canon model are only scheduled to last approximately 8,000 clicks. Mine crapped out at 6700. Figures. So, then I had to struggle to search for new camera, compare models, verify compatibility with my excellent lenses, and mire myself in technical specifications which I barely understand because technology changes moment to moment these days. In the end, M learned more than he ever wanted to about cameras and shutters and Canon so that he could order, pay for, and arrange for shipping on a new camera for me. I just couldn't cope. Bad development (haha. Pun).
Needless to say, if any of my doctor friends are reading (and I don't mean all you competent PhDs or academic "doctors,") although you are my friends. I mean those doctor friends wielding the almighty Rx pad--if you could just write me a script for like a thousand Xanax and wake me when school starts, I would appreciate it. Thank you.