There was a man who had a plane that would fly on auto pilot; not only cruise once airborne, but one which could at times, even take off and land automatically. In fact could execute, reasonably well, some complex aerobatic maneuvers.
The feature had another talent. On its own it could often handle complicated craft-to-ground verbal communications, and when not so involved with serious responsibilities, it would pipe entertainment into the cockpit, (of the talk radio, and muzak variety).
All in all, the auto pilot was an exceptionally valuable aid in the man’s operation of his plane and yet, spasmodically, he was greatly annoyed by it. When he mentioned this to other pilots none of them admitted to similar feelings – in fact, most had become so accustomed-to, and reliant-on the auto pilot they had forgotten that it even existed, and now treated its talents as being their own.
The man concluded that he was alone in his intermittent irritation with the auto pilot’s presence in his life, and that any method to change the situation would have to originate with him. He knew that he could perform all of the auto pilot’s functions, except for its constant monitoring, and fine tuning of the plane’s engine, (the one area of its operations that never bothered him). So, (save for the latter), he decided that he would assume all other responsibility for the craft’s flight – but there arose, a teensy little problem. He couldn’t the hell remember to take over for the damn automatic thing-a-ma-jiggy.
He’d remember his decision to do so spasmodically with, (interestingly enough), the exact same frequency that he was annoyed by it to begin with. So now he had doubled his irritation: he still had his original one with certain aspects of the auto pilot’s presence in his life, now combined with the new irritation he experienced every time he realized that he had not taken over for it as per his decision to do so.