It's FU*&%#-NG Sunday fer chrissakes

Blurry eyed and brain dead I drag myself out of bed and stagger over to the window to find out just what the hell is happening outside.
There is this sound, a god awful racket that makes me think that the self defence forces are playing war games in my backyard. It turns out to be my neighbors. Gathered together with their children for recycling day.
The women are gossiping and laughing while the brats are having a snowball fight and everyone has brought every empty beer can and juice bottle that they have saved up for the past two months and are seperating them into these huge crates to be picked up by the city's garbge service.
The noise of dozens of garbage bags filled with aluminum cans being poured into the crates simultaneously is huge and palpable. The clatter of bottles crashing against each other sets my nerves on edge and makes me twitch and curse like I have turets syndrome. I was looking forward to spending the morning in bed but now I find myself sitting in front of my computer with a cuban breakfast and a bit of nicotine ranting as fast as my fuzzy brain and spastic fingers can go.

The best laid schemes o’ mice and men Gang aft agley;An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!
-Robert Burns-