I am one of the world's worst typists. I type everything with my two forefingers, a method known as "hunt and peck," which clearly implies that I have the facility of a chicken, except that trained chickens are faster and more accurate than I. I can actually on occasion achieve an impressive rate of speed at the typewriter, but only at the cost of hitting so many wrong keys that the line lights up with red marks indicating that my automatic spell checker cannot identify what I have typed. I can think much faster than I can type, but that is not saying much. Jeff Sessions, arguably the dumbest person in the United States Senate, can think faster than I can type.
It is a mystery to me how I can have written as many books as I have, typing this badly. During my recent visit to the French doctor, reported on this blog, I had at one point to type something into her computer. She stared incredulously as I pecked away with my two fingers.
It is much too late to learn to type the way normal people do, so I am condemned to hunt and peck until I die. Maybe as I dwindle away in a hospice, someone will bring me a voice recognition package so that I can dictate my last will and testament. That would be a nice way to go.