Thursday, September 11, 2008

I have an aversion...

to filling out forms.

An affliction so deep-rooted, withering and 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.


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. Long days and nights spent on the tobacco fields trying to eke out a living for us all 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 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 carried, coffin-like, with large, beautiful flowers and silent weeping to be put 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.

You know the one...

Opened occasionally to peek at in disgust, pull Jim Carrey faces at and then put away to the furtherest corner of my desk.

I usually get to those tasks anywhere from now until twelve months later.

You right with that?

Most excellent...

Wanna give me a form which must be filled out, like, immediately, otherwise it will cost me bucketloads in fines?

Great, 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...


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