One time this happened...

The faint glow of the computer screen casts an uneasy light on my face as I fumble beneath the keyboard to retrieve the dust-covered instruction manual for my failed attempt at building a robot last Christmas. I swear I followed the diagrams, but the mechanical bird now lies inert amidst cardboard shreds and the discarded remains of a half-defrosted pizza.

As I struggled to reconnect the severed wires on my latest DIY robotic project, my roommate's loud karate instructor in the flat below us made me misspeak into the walkie-talkie for what felt like the hundredth time, "Echo-1, this is Nova-12: status unknown." Silence. Probably he'd muted it by now, judging by the way he glared at me through the floor vents whenever the walkie-talkie's incessant bleating disturbed his focus.

My fingers had a peculiar relationship with space, consistently misunderstanding it whenever I typed out my password on public computers. During a particularly arduous business trip, my hotel room computer screen turned eerily silent when I input 12 jumbled digits.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, summoning an algorithmic masterpiece that crashed within millimeters of completion. For the umpteenth time that night, my phone rang – a panicked call from a client whose PowerPoint presentation was stubbornly refusing to embed.

My fingers twitched as I struggled to remember the sequence of buttons on my grandfather's old VHS recorder, now proudly displayed beside the new 5K 4K whatever it's called. As a self-proclaimed genius who'd written 27 tweets about the benefits of analog life – much to the disdain of my followers who'd rather watch the world burn – I had decided to hold a seminar explaining the importance of VHS.

My finger slipped and the screen screamed as I accidentally downvoted my own TED talk with a string of 12 consecutive f-bombs.