Paperwork of the Jabberwocky

Why, oh why, do I find paperwork so damned intimidating and scary? You know, the sort required to get through life — mortgage, insurance, social security crap, health insurance, taxes and the like.

I know that I have to be all methodical and focused — grit my teeth, sit down and just do it. Instead, when faced with page after page of nine point Times gobbledygook questions, my eyes glaze over and my brain takes the next flight out for Montego Bay. Christ on a ream of 20 lb. white, this is hard!

In my constant quest to feel all normal-ish and not alone, I Googled ‘fear of paperwork.’ Ya know, there must be a name for this phobia — possibly a whole field of graduate level, psych department studies to go with it. One can probably get a doctorate in Paperwork Fear. Failing that, I imagine, there are telethons, bike marathons and road races in support of a cure.

There’s got to, at least, be a 12 step program or three!

 In flailing around for my phobia's name, the only thing I could find that was even close was this:

The fear of paperwork could be called paralipophobia (which is the fear of responsibility).

Nope, that ain’t me babe. I’m fine with being responsible-like — it’s the detailed, badly written, confusing forms that freak me out. Whoever writes these suckers must be colossally insecure specimens of humanity — purposefully writing this shit to be as mystifyingly opaque as possible in an effort to make themselves feel all smart and special.

Honestly, these cement blocks of copy may be written in English but it’s an overblown, contorted, rat-fuck of the language, designed to make the poor soul filling out forms sweat like it’s a humid day on the lowest circle of Dante’s Inferno.

Imagine a world where tech writers, text book authors and school teachers all communicated their very important lessons with Jabberwockian nonsense language, Elaine style interpretive dance  and Scalzian farts?

Yup, utter mayhem, total chaos and much depression would ensue. Mind you, Jameson's would do banner biz. Perhaps it’s in the liquor industry’s best interest to influence hiring in these fields?

What’s making me all sweatily tense and nervous? All the health insurance and social security paperwork that I need to have done and submit today. It seems that if, I put one foot wrong, one check mark out of place, I could easily end up living in a cramped studio apartment on Alpha Centauri, owing Donald Trump rent money and/or having to where pink ruffled wool suits in Hell.

Perhaps I’ll hit up my fairy godmother for assistance.