** Warning: this dream contains graphic excrement and may not be appropriate for all readers. **
This was a variation on a theme I've dreamed before. I was living with my parents, sister, and grandmother (I don't remember any spouses for my sister and me, but it's possible they were there too). Somehow I had gotten myself into a position where I was doing 99% of the housework without realizing it--cooking, meal cleanup, laundry, cleaning, everything. All of the family members were sitting around the living room reading* and I was wandering around trying figure out what to do next and wishing I had time to do some project for myself, or my own reading. The dog was laying on the couch, and I realized that something wasn't quite right with her backside. On closer inspection, I saw that she was smeared with the remains of diarrhea. At first I thought none of it had gotten on the couch, and I was panicking about how to try to get her off the couch without dirtying it. I started freaking out and yelling incoherently about dog doo and having to move her, and that they needed to help me, but everyone just glanced up vaguely and went right back to their reading. Then I saw that there was a big plop of excrement that had landed in between the two couch sections, and that really set me off. I started yelling and hyperventilating, which got the dog all riled up so that she spread little bits of yellowish pea-soup-resembling doo all over everything.
Of course that got me even more agitated, and I yelled and yelled and yelled about how I was doing ALL the work for everyone, even washing their dirty laundry, and did they really think that was fair, and how had this happened, and why wouldn't anyone help me with anything, and how could they live with themselves, and why didn't they notice that dog excrement, and why did they think it was okay that *I* was going to have to be the one to clean up all the little bits smeared all around.
They just looked at me with mild surprise and concern, made a few lame excuses for not helping, and a couple of them just left the room to get away from my yelling, implying that the problem was that I was unhinged.
Then my alarm went off, and in my hazy, feeble attempts to stop hyperventilating and wake up, my brain abruptly started making up Edward Gorey-esque doggerel: "J is for Jacob, who exhibited pluck; I is for Ivan, who ran out of luck."
*My family's default setting in real life.