if my brain had a manual

What is the deal with boys?
How is that they can enter the perfectly ordered sanctuary of the mind – the one corner of the world that I can control and know implicitly - and within minutes they leave a wake of pandemonium so extreme I can no longer recognize the fragments of thoughts and dreams as being my own.
How do they get in? Why are they so disruptive? Or am I the only one who suffers the side effects of an extreme disease called over analyzation?
Perhaps this problem is somehow connected to the deeper issue, namely, me. As the only common thread weaving between awkward, chaotic situations, I begin to wonder what part I play in this.
I guess I must really like drama.
That, or I am severely mentally unstable.