This is the end and some very nasty words will be said.

That's right. If you have sensitive ears, cover your eyes. (It's not like you'd be hearing this post--unless you read everything aloud--in which case you're a freak.) You have been warned. If you choose to read on, be it on your own head.

The first very foul word is head gasket. Well, that's two words--and anyone who brings that up will hear more filthy language. Anyone familiar with cars knows those two words don't come up when things are sitting pretty. No one says, "I bought this new car and the head gaskets are awesome." If you didn't shudder just a little when you read "head gasket" then you've clearly never had one blow or heard of the horror involved. The husband has narrowed it down to that.

He threw some car jargon at me about exhaust leaking from somewhere that it shouldn't be. He's the king of all mechanical in our house--I just am here for show. I'm the beauty--he's the brains. (Which is another scary thing considering I'm sitting here in scruffy pjs after a very late night.) If the husband can do it--which involves a lot of tearing into the engine and may require tools we probably don't have--it'll be $300. The husband is skeptical. I've come to realize that the husband can do anything--but the tools and time and frustration--that's a different story. In the shop--it'll take anywhere from $600-1500.

Cough* What? * cough

That's right. There is nothing like trying to come up with imaginary money in December. I've mentioned before how expensive raising two Autistic children is, but if you missed that--we're so much in debt that there is no relief in sight--and we're tapped out. There is no way on this earth or any other we can afford that.

Here is the next dirty word. Ready?

Bacterial infection. Okay. That's two words too. It's probably like serial killers--they require two word or three words/names to be truly evil. The husband went into Urgent Care last Friday because he had a bacterial infection in his chest. He's on antibiotics right now. It crept into my lungs yesterday. I couldn't lie down without coughing until the medicine finally kicked in. This morning--my throat feels wrong--really wrong. The plague is upon us.

This one is filthy and only one word. Theoretically, that should make it less evil if my above theory is correct.

Short. Honor Six's middle met my epilogue last night. I'd written the epilogue a long time ago, and I just connected it to the main plot. In theory, that means I've finished Honor Six. Before any rejoicing takes place, I'm only at 60K-- as in, at least, 15 K short of where it should be--and 20K shorter than the rest. It's a whopping 40K shy of Honor Among Thieves. Nightmare. I know that some parts need to be fleshed out. I burnt the midnight oil last night to blaze through the plot points. I think I finished at 2 am. Still--that is very, very, very short of where it should be. Nightmare. Nightmare. Horror.

The last foul word is both clean and dirty and my nemesis.

You know what it is--it plagues me. I even have nightmares about it. Laundry. I have clean clothes to put away. Dirty clothes to wash. Out-grown clothes to pack away for Heidi. Clothes. Clothes. Clothes. I hate it. It makes me want to go cry in a corner.

So, that's my sad Tuesday tale. We have no money for Christmas. We have a car that is about to suck our souls out--like a vehicular vampire. I'm coming down with something that is already easing into my weakened lungs. Honor six is short and her mother dresses her funny. Plus, there is always laundry. Damn laundry. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! A curse upon your growing family of outgrown jeans. A curse upon your stupid endless stray socks. A curse upon your towels that take ten years to dry in this damn cold, muggy weather. A curse upon that nasty, damp smell that you get if I leave you in the washer over night. I spit upon the fact that sometimes I must dry and rewash just to get that smell out. Do you hear me, Laundry???!!! I hate you more than anything!

Today sucks massive rocks. You were warned. If you read this post, you have only yourself to blame.

That is all.