Yesterday afternoon I received a tenancy renewal form in my email. I’ve now lived in Eltham for almost a year, so I suppose it was time for it to arrive. I opened the form and set to work on it, thinking that it shouldn’t be too much of a problem – I do have a masters, after all. To my horror, though, I soon realised I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. It asked all kinds of random, irrelevant questions. In desperation, I did what I usually do with such matters and sent it to my parents for help. (My new motto: When in doubt, delegate.) Fortunately they got a bit further with it, although mum and dad admiited it wasn’t at all straightforward, and told me I was right to ask for their help. The form asked for details which I just don’t have access to.

The form is now on it’s way to where it needs to go, and once again I’m left feeling relieved that I have such capable, wonderful parents; a cuddle with them both is frankly long overdue. Yet that relief is tinged with worry as well as self criticism: what if my parents weren’t there? Isn’t this the sort of thing I ought to be able to do myself? Why couldn’t I access the information I needed to fill out the form? Lyn seems to have been able to handle such issues, so why can’t I? Delegation is all well and good, but surely I should be up to things like this if I’m to be an independent member of the community. More to the point, though, why do they have to make such forms so damn complex? Even my parents, who are used to such things, had a tough time sorting through this mess, so where would it leave someone even less capable than me who doesn’t have such a wonderful mum and dad to fall back on?

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