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.