The screensaver blinks on on your desktop as you sit at work, staring at the screen. It's the default one - the perfect set of green hills, with the pure blue sky, and gauzy white clouds floating by. It's stupid. You despise it. You never changed it, though your normal tendency is to personalize everything to some degree. When you moved into your dorm freshman year, for example, you remember propping your books just so on your shelf so they didn't look too ascetic and inhuman, all perfectly aligned. That was just creepy.
Back in the present, you sigh and hit your space bar impatiently until the email you had open pops back on-screen. You re-read it, skimming the lines quickly, trying to be objective in your analysis of your own writing. - But it's too weepy and forward and pathetic. It's shit. You beg in it at the end. You admit to feeling hurt and insecure.
You make a small, disgusted sound at yourself and hit the 'delete' button on the screen. The entire thing is basically mental and emotional vomit. Nothing more. There's no sense in it and it makes you feel weak and insufficient. It's actually infuriating to feel so powerless. When the box pops up to ask you 'are you sure you want to delete this draft?,' you frown and confirm.