Siberian Camera Day

On days like the one I just survived, I often pacify my own deep well of frustrated exhaustion with the oddly comforting, entirely fictional conviction that there is a hidden camera somewhere in my house actively broadcasting these terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days of mine to Siberia, or some such equally unappealing locale, in an ongoing effort to cheer people up by comparing my unprecedentedly worst days to their own. And realizing they ain't got it half as bad as they thought if that haggard American lady provides any kind of reliable basis of comparison.

Today was worthy of the Siberian Camera from the moment I began my morning by stepping barefoot into a nicely placed pile of fresh cat ~deposit~, at the bottom of my staircase. And it ended perfectly in synch with that lovely beginning, with a cranky, teething, hungry toddler (that would be JoyBoy) who threw a screaming fit so hard while in the shopping cart at the supermarket that he actually hyperventilated and passed out.

I could not do blogging justice to the endless myriad of tedious items that went dastardly wrong today, consistently, relentlessly, hour after hour. At some point, it did actually become so ridiculous that it was funny. I think that was the point when the 12-case of soda fell off the shelf and onto the toes of my right foot, badly bloodying my shoes and the floor where I had been innocently standing (Cleanup on Aisle 12!). My self-propelled consolation is that the secret hidden camera providing a live feed to some otherwise bleak population somewhere in Eastern Europe does allow others to be comforted in their own plight from watching the train wreck that was my day, unfold in all its glory.

Laugh it up, all you Siberian voyeurs. Laugh it up.