F*cking Forms

How I (sort-of) ended my career over a form, and why professional work has accumulated so f*cking many of them. You know who doesn't require forms though? Chickens! I have new chickens and am in love.

This time with proofreading. Really.

As a kid, I used to play a game of forms with my brother. Cross-legged in front of the bookshelf, having read all of my dad’s Illustrated Classics for the thousandth time, we would pull out his old copies of the Reader’s Digest and fill out all the forms. Why there were forms I can’t tell you. Possibly so one could or…