A run-on in D minor

You know those days when you can’t make a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich fast enough and your kid is crying so hard he can’t even eat his applesauce and he shouts for his cup but throws it when you give it to him and then you try to put the knife in the dishwasher and your husband shuts it a second to early and you want to throttle him just for that and you feel guilty because you are going to dinner with some (fab) friends and you secretly wonder if anyone will notice if you sneak out a half hour early while in the background some douchetard is doing yard work with the screechiest hedge-clipper all while you are just on the verge of breaking out in a sweat because you have the air all the way up because you are trying to conserve energy (which is a fancy way of saying we are broke and don’t want to pay THAT much) then you trip over a dog who yelps and you add that to your running tally of guilty moments for the past hour all while wondering if this would be a good time to run upstairs and write this all down for posterity’s sake?