One day, many years ago when I was a teenager, I needed to use the scissors to adjust one of my pockets. I went in my parents bedroom looking in the drawer where the scissors were supposed to be, but I couldn't find them. I searched in the other drawers, on the night stand, on every surface, but with no result.

Finally, I decided to go to my room. While passing by the big mirror in the hall, I was stunned: the scissors were in my left hand all that time.

     How was that possible? Was that a sign of a serious illness?

     I remember cutting the pocket, sewing it in a big hurry and leaving to my fencing practice.
   
    What happen, though? After taking time to go over the scissors search, I had a glimpse: the scissors were left on the kitchen table possible by my mother. On my way to my parents' bedroom I grabbed the scissors in my left hand, but my mind was focused to go and find them in the place where we were keeping them.My attention was concentrated to fulfill my mission based on the routine.
   
     Did something like this happen to you?