My son won't stop chewing on his clothes. Yes, that's right, chewing on his clothes. Every time I take his hand, I get the moist, filthy, chewed-up edge of his sleeve. Very unhygienic and, frankly, I don't appreciate it. I have promised him a new engine for his Thomas the Tank Engine set if he will lay off the chewing for two weeks. Because I'm a terrible, bribing sort of mother.

Hum, hum, hum, my first review at my new-ish job is in, um, one hour and twenty-two minutes. I have a nervous cold feeling in my shoulders and I think I might retch.

And speaking of work . . . dear G-d, please get me through the audit. I don't care for the audit, it's just really not for me. It's too much like being a grown-up.

I'm renewing my apartment lease for another year, with a rent increase of $40/month. Very soon I'll be replacing the carpet in the 2nd bedroom, at my own expense. And painting the bathroom, also at my own expense. Having already painted the hall and living room (after stripping the wallpaper and border), guess what, at my own expense. If my landlord did these things, she would raise the rent by a kajillion dollars a month.

I have just arranged a monthly transfer of 25% of my net income into savings, so perhaps one day I'll be able to buy a place and enhance the value of my own property instead of investing my sweat equity for the benefit of other people. Ha, so there, cheapskate landlord!

In my own defense (because it does seem stupid to put all this work into a rented apartment) , I must add that when we moved in we found clown art on the wall. Seriously! A portrait of a clown. Matted and framed, hanging on the wall. So now imagine the other, er, decorative touches we might have encountered, and perhaps you understand why all this sweat and expense is necessary. It's for my own sanity, folks.

Yeah, sanity. Fifty-seven minutes now until my Review. Gulp. More cold tingling in the arms.

I keep getting e-mails about the audit. Go 'way! Go bother a grown-up.

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