Does anyone really enjoy dragging smelly, unbalanced garbage cans to the curb in the dark? I sure don't.
When I was growing up, Thursday night was garbage night. Hot or cold, rain or snow, the garbage had to be put out. Then when I moved out on my own, no matter where I lived, it always seemed that Thursday night was garbage night. I was haunted by it, like I was living a bad Twilight Zone episode.
Finally I moved to my current house, and garbage night is no longer on Thursday. Still, every Thursday night at some point I remember that it's garbage night, but then a moment later I realize that no, it's not anymore. O frabjous day! Calloo! Callay! For the rest of the night I feel like I'm on vacation, where I can ignore the drudgery of quotidian chores. Even though I've been in this house for nearly ten years, this scene still plays out every Thursday night. I guess old habits die hard.
Of course, on previously-garbage-free Friday night, I now feel like I'm in the army on K.P. duty whenever I belatedly realize that it's garbage night. Everything evens out over time.