How curious.

For the last day and a half, since feeling recovered enough from my cold to go back to work, I've been dazzlingly brilliant at work, at least by my usual standards. Problems I've been daunted by for weeks have melted away before me, five or six moderately big outstanding tasks have all been completed and solved in the course of today, and I've been spotting potential headaches literally years in advance and heading them off before they arrive. I've been feeling really good about myself, and in spite of losing one and a half days to illness this week, I've still come home today considering it to be the best week's work I've put in in quite some time.

It's curious, therefore, that in the same day and a half outside work, I have been consistently, persistently and unremittingly incompetent in all other areas. I left my shaver's recharge cord carefully plugged in this morning and unaccountably failed to attach the actual shaver to the far end of it; this evening I made a phone call following up an SMS I'd sent last night without thinking to first check whether I might have received an answer by SMS; I've dropped things, lost things, forgotten things, stared into space gormlessly, and when I've got bored enough to play FreeCell I've even been more useless than usual at that.

Perhaps I should have gone back to work!