It's not just that I hate housework, although that comes as naturally to me as breathing. It's that I don't even notice when things start to deteriorate. The clutter accumulates organically, and the monster it creates ends up seeming like an eccentric, lumpy roommate who's always lived here.

With the auditor coming tomorrow, and me stranded while my car gets the treatment, I had to face the monster today. If past audits tell me anything, it's that I've always done more cleaning and straightening than necessary, but I can't help myself. Besides, she has to have a place to work, so she can do her job and leave me alone for another year.

And that's about all it is, a few days once a year, that I can see the top of my dining table. On a typical day I do as much work there as I do sitting at the computer. Most of my day involves trekking back and forth between the two venues. The pile of work that gets the most attention is at the corner of the table, where I put the priority items.

But the rest of the table has piles, too. Those are the piles that get the least attention, except on the day before an audit, or if someone I don't know might possibly be coming by for a visit. Since it's been over a year since I've had such a visit, the junk piles were higher than usual when I started today, and the dust in between was thicker.

In spite of what would seem the logical course of action, I didn't just shove everything into the bedroom and close the door. On the other hand, I didn't clean up anything in there either. If someone were to audit my bedroom, there would be heavy fines and penalties. And I have very little incentive to do much about it, unfortunately.

Tame the monster? Hardly. I just beat it back into its cave, where it'll stay barely long enough for my auditor to get in and out of here.

The Saturn dealer called at 3:15 this afternoon to tell me my car was ready. I had to remind them that I needed Dagwood the shuttle driver to come by and pick me up. I waited and waited as the afternoon slipped away. They said he'd call before he came by, but he'd been on duty early this morning and I wondered if it might be getting close to quitting time.

I know. I should be grateful that I'm dealing with an outfit that gives free rides. But my stomach was sinking lower and lower as it kept getting darker and drearier outside. At 4:00 I started pacing and thinking of all the dire possibilities. What if?

What if I didn't get my car back today and had to wait through the whole ordeal tomorrow? What if something happened to poor Dagwood? What if he lost my phone number or went to the wrong house? Should I have tipped him when he dropped me off this morning? How much?

It started raining, harder than it had all day. Even though I knew Dagwood was supposed to call me, I dragged the stepstool to the kitchen window so I could watch the driveway. That's the only way I can see beyond the fence in my side yard, and I watched the mailman come and go. I didn't dare walk out in the rain to pick up my mail, though, just in case I might miss a call.

Finally at 4:30 I called the service department. They were mystified about what might have delayed Dagwood, but Jen put me on hold while she phoned him. He was almost back into the shop, and she would have him race on out to get me as soon as he showed. I told her I didn't mind waiting (a lie) as long as I knew I hadn't been forgotten (true).

By the time I finally got home, it was almost 5:30 and nearly dark, and raining so hard I got soaked just walking in from the garage. The car smelled a little too perfumy for my taste, but I guess that comes with the treatment. Right now it's all beaded up with raindrops, but it won't be long before it gets tested. Bring on the bird droppings and tree sap. (Not really. Keep them.)

The delay cost me a chance to get to the post office before the last mail pickup, so I didn't bother going at all. That makes another lie I told today, because I promised one of our suppliers that his check would go out today. If I'd mailed it that late, though, it wouldn't have been picked up until tomorrow anyway. I'm not sure where that falls on the true-false scale, but my intentions were honorable.

In fact, I came thisclose to going to the post office anyway, even though it was raining like a sonofagun and it was too late for mail to go out. Just so I could say I did it. But I didn't.