I have an aversion...
February 28th 2008 23:04
to filling in forms.
An affliction so deep-rooted, withering and darkly potent in it's force that only many long hours spent with my hot and sweaty back pressed against the cold, uncaring leather of a psychiatrist's couch with a tear-streaked face and a very shiny, very red nose will alleviate the condition.
Please.
Take my hand.
Step with me this way.
Let me take you back to where it all began...
A portion of blame may be attributed to my father and his lack of English speaking/writing skills.
Back-breakingly long days and nights spent on the tobacco fields meant he was unable to learn much of the Aussie language except for the word "bloody" and a few other choice Italian swear words.
Friends popping in to visit me who had the front door opened by my father had his cringe-inducing, top volume shout of "Anica, WHERE YOU ARE?????" in their earholes.
Forms from his work were all handballed to the child who in reality had knowledge only slightly more than her parents in what she was reading and able to write.
My mother, who was unable to write in English but able to read my private diary detailing marijuana use, also enlisted me to write notes such as "I was sick and unable to work" to her employer and fill out any boring paperwork.
As I moved out of home I thought my phobia could be laid to rest.
But no.
My husbands brother and his family upon arriving in Australia from Bosnia some years ago now had form after form to fill out. The paper used was enough to fill a timber plantation.
Several times over.
Does Bosnia have less red tape and paperwork than Australia?
If so I'm moving there.
So you see I just can't escape my loathing, even in everyday life.
Want a red-hot, super urgent, mustbefilledoutyesterday credit application?
Sure, I'll put it in my manila folder. The one which is opened occasionally to peek at in disgust then put away to the furtherest corner of my desk. I usually get to those tasks anywhere from now until twelve months later.
Is that alright with you?
Cool..
Wanna give me a form which must be filled out, like, immediately, otherwise it will cost me a bucket load of money?
Fantastic! I'll hand you the money right now! Cash ok?
And did you want to kill my libido?
Fine. Just present me with a form which must be filled out in block letters and a black pen. Not even a handful of little blue pills will save that one.
So last night, having a quiet ciggie outside on the back verandah, unable to sleep I began to think about a form I had yet to fill out for my mother-in-law.
And farted.
Very loudly.
An affliction so deep-rooted, withering and darkly potent in it's force that only many long hours spent with my hot and sweaty back pressed against the cold, uncaring leather of a psychiatrist's couch with a tear-streaked face and a very shiny, very red nose will alleviate the condition.
Please.
Take my hand.
Step with me this way.
Let me take you back to where it all began...
A portion of blame may be attributed to my father and his lack of English speaking/writing skills.
Back-breakingly long days and nights spent on the tobacco fields meant he was unable to learn much of the Aussie language except for the word "bloody" and a few other choice Italian swear words.
Friends popping in to visit me who had the front door opened by my father had his cringe-inducing, top volume shout of "Anica, WHERE YOU ARE?????" in their earholes.
Forms from his work were all handballed to the child who in reality had knowledge only slightly more than her parents in what she was reading and able to write.
My mother, who was unable to write in English but able to read my private diary detailing marijuana use, also enlisted me to write notes such as "I was sick and unable to work" to her employer and fill out any boring paperwork.
As I moved out of home I thought my phobia could be laid to rest.
But no.
My husbands brother and his family upon arriving in Australia from Bosnia some years ago now had form after form to fill out. The paper used was enough to fill a timber plantation.
Several times over.
Does Bosnia have less red tape and paperwork than Australia?
If so I'm moving there.
So you see I just can't escape my loathing, even in everyday life.
Want a red-hot, super urgent, mustbefilledoutyesterday credit application?
Sure, I'll put it in my manila folder. The one which is opened occasionally to peek at in disgust then put away to the furtherest corner of my desk. I usually get to those tasks anywhere from now until twelve months later.
Is that alright with you?
Cool..
Wanna give me a form which must be filled out, like, immediately, otherwise it will cost me a bucket load of money?
Fantastic! I'll hand you the money right now! Cash ok?
And did you want to kill my libido?
Fine. Just present me with a form which must be filled out in block letters and a black pen. Not even a handful of little blue pills will save that one.
So last night, having a quiet ciggie outside on the back verandah, unable to sleep I began to think about a form I had yet to fill out for my mother-in-law.
And farted.
Very loudly.
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Comment by Harry
Sydney Diary
Personals
Brisbane Diarystar
Zoo Parent
You had better not get a job in a bank! Lots of forms there.
Comment by Anna Kovacevic
So who are you anyway?