Good Fucking Morning..

Oh. YAY. And Good Fucking Morning to you TOO Mr Recycle Bin Pick Up Man.

No, I don't want you to worry about the fact that it's only 4fucking30 in the goddamn morning and that I was finally able to fall asleep for those 10 whole minutes before you came bellowing down the street.  Please don't let my SOUL. CRUSHING. INSOMNIA stop you from your dutiful rounds as you BANG and CRASH those goddamn little blue boxes full of bottles into the catcher of your oil belching, screeching, behemoth of a vehicle. 

Certainly I understand you have your job to do.  God knows it's probably not the best job in the world; but, oh, HEY, at least you're fucking employed.  However, it's evident you're not too pleased with your lot in life because we go through this same shit every BUTT CRACK OF DAWN Wednesday morning.  You come racing through my neighborhood for no other reason than to SLAM on your brakes each and every time you stop.  Yeah.  THOSE brakes.  The ones you probably should have gotten checked, oh, say, FOUR LAYERS AGO when there was still some semblance of pads on the rotors.  The ones that scrape METAL to METAL in such a wonderous way as to rip through my ear drums and leave them bleeding as the sound makes its way into my brain and turns it to sludge from the vibration. 

Oh. And please don't let the dark houses on the street get in the way of your OUTSIDE VOICE while you discuss some drunken, sexual escapade with your, obviously, still impaired co-worker.   Certainly, WE'RE ALL UP NOW. 

And JUST when I thought I could try and bury my head under the pillows, here comes my NEW friend; Mr Utility Service Man with the Jackhammer.  I must say now that you're not DIRECTLY in front of my house hammering up the concrete of my sidewalk, I can BARELY hear you anymore.  The fact that my windows are shaking so hard that I worry they will implode is none of your concern.  And those coffee breaks where the 10 of you are laughing and talking your *man* talk at full voice isn't interferring with my desire to find REM sleep AT. ALL. 

Oh; and, of course, tomorrow is TRASH. DAY. 

And people wonder why I'm not allowed to own a gun..