Why I hate garbage day

I got home from the lab too late last night (was it 2 a.m.? I don't know) and promptly fell asleep on the couch. At 5:30 in the fucking a dot m dot, I am awakened by the sound that I can only imagine is a huge flock of extremely angry seagulls gang fighting each other with knives and guns over my garbage, outside my open window. This continued for what felt like infinity, or at least until the lead-footed three-year-old speed-junkie was awakened from his slumber (by the birds) and did his morning gymnastics routine which sounded like a jackhammer dismantling the second floor. Which was all well and good cause I moved to a quieter room. But then the garbage trucks. They started driving. Two or three came by with their screechy break stops every two minutes. At this point I decided it was time to get up. Today I did not like garbage day.