Do you remember a while back – oh, quite a while back now that I come to think of it – there was a fad concerning ones’ biorhythms, and you could check daily, or even hourly, on whether they were heading up or down.

The theory was that like all things of life, your biorhythms fluctuate wave-like throughout the day, and if you were forearmed with the knowledge that your downward spiral was going to happen at 2 p.m., you could avoid poking that bear with a blunt stick rather leaving the task to an upward swing which was due to happen at 6 p.m., making the outcome much happier all around – likely resulting in the bear insisting you share his salmon and berry culinary creation all while quaffing down a nice Chianti.

Conversely, you could know in your heart that storming the boss’ office at 10 a.m. and demanding a raise would not only garner you more money, but possibly the Nobel Peace Prize at the same time; and that at 3 p.m. you would actually be better wrapping yourself up in cotton and refusing to emerge until 7.

I wish I’d consulted my biorhythmic chart the other day, then I would’ve known to go back to bed and ignore the world for an hour or so.

I mean – I couldn’t even get out of my own garage unscathed.

My brain evidently wasn’t connected to any particularly useful part of my body as I slowly backed the car out of the narrow garage. I could see that the right wing mirror looked a tad close to the door jamb, but figured I could squeak out without hitting it.

Wrong. Oh so wrong. Once I realized what I was in fact doing, I pulled forward only to see the previously pristine right wing mirror flop rather inelegantly against the side of the car, rendering it particularly useless as a sighting aid, and potentially extremely hazardous to the health of the rest of the car, and possibly passing traffic.

This was not the way I wanted to proceed to the office with a piece of equipment flapping ominously in the 65 mph breeze I was creating on the highway.

Fortunately I live close to the dealership, so limped up the freeway, a little like a dear old thing out for a Sunday drive in the right lane, to get my baby to safety. A snip of the odd wire, the removal of the offending flopping bits, and promise of a new mirror tomorrow and a $400 bill later, I was back on the road again – ever mindful of the fact that it felt like I’d lost the sight of my right eye as I glanced to see if I could safely change lanes.

Thankfully my brain kicked in sufficiently by then to ring the warning bell that, no, I hadn’t gone blind – but I did have to take extra care.

I’m telling you – I just should’ve stayed in bed.

Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at .