Like a broken engine: you can insert the key and the ignition still churns but it doesn't start, it doesn't start but you swear it will, you cry relentlessly to it, call it your "baby" whether it is male or female, you have faith. Faith that is riding on you having the "magic touch," that some miraculous fiber of your being will enable it to recuperate. You're already running late for work and your co-worker has texted you twice telling you that "there is a meeting in 25, where r u?!" But all you can do is stare into the LCD screen with anguish in your eyes. You slam your head hard against the steering wheel, crash your hands lifelessly on the dash and cry like a bitch. You're screwed and there's nothing you can do about it.