Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

A lone bird chirps outside. The morning sun has already vanquished the darkness of night, although we have not yet reached a point of peak brightness. I am sure it will get brighter than this, and yet I find there is no way to truly tell under these circumstances when and to what extent the luminescence will reach its highest level today. Yesterday afternoon proved to be quite an extraordinary change of pace in terms of the weather patterns we have been experiencing recently; for the first time since moving in, we received heavy rainfall in our area. The rain was severe enough to cause not one, but two power interruptions. In both cases, they only lasted for a few seconds; the WiFi was affected the most, as it takes a couple of minutes for the router to initialize and resume its normal operations. Having recently been fortunate enough to come into possession of a new phone, and gotten to the point where my room feels more like how it did at the old house--save, of course, for the environment being much neater overall--I find myself embracing the technologies that are immediately available, readily accessible to me. At the same time, I feel a sense of obligation to educate myself on how to survive without them. While there is no immediate temptation, no pressing urge to go 'off the grid', I have found that the time I spend away from the creature comforts of our modern existence has been deeply enriching. I am in tune with the universe in these moments; my senses heightened, my mind focused. It is as though every roadblock impeding me from maximizing my potential has been eliminated in one fell swoop. Another bird chirps, a reminder of the beauty in what our Creator has given to us as humans. I grew up in an era that bridged the last days of analog technology, and the first days of the digital. I am old enough to remember floppy disks and cassette tapes, yet still young enough to be squarely in the target audience for the innovations being unveiled now, the expansions of conveniences introduced in the past. "There was a time when none of this existed," I tell myself. And while I will always be grateful for technology, humanity should be able to function without it. It is not so much that this is what I want, but when Melle Mel told us "don't be a slave to no computer," it was for a reason. One of my house-mates shrieks at length, descending into a torrent of blissful madness. One can only imagine what the cause must be. Perhaps he's joined the rest of the Wee Sing cast in Sillyville once again? I am tempted to pay a visit to his room, but as he does not force himself into my fortress of solitude unannounced, I find it preferable to extend him the same courtesy. Just as I have concluded typing that sentence, the breakfast call goes out. We all take our places; on a plate in front of me is an assortment of mixed fruit, along with the addition of a cherry Pop-Tart which was actually done properly in the toaster! (I would have been just as happy if it was room temperature, or even frozen, so that was a nice surprise.) The cereal bowl in front of me is empty. I would presume by now that the CNA who usually handles weekday morning breakfast duties, and the duties on Saturday, knows that I prefer to have Cheerios. After accounting for the bowls of several other house-mates, she asks me what I want. Well, "asks" is being generous. She does a weird physical gesture and gives me a "huh?" look. She seems to be tired of the job; after this, she will be heading out to work at another job later this morning. She is now in her mid-sixties, and all the signs are there that she is stressed out. She runs through the motions like a robot that has been trained to do tasks. She gives off a frustrated energy that makes her somewhat unpleasant to be around. But through it all, I keep my cool. I am tempted to try and call her out on her behavior, but remember the old saying about the fingers that get pointed back at you when you point a finger at someone else. She has lost people close to her just as I have, and I am of the mind now that when someone is being negative to me or others around me, it is their stress talking, and not them. I say "Cheerios." A house-mate says "Fruit Loops" at the same time. For him, there is no discernible difference between brand name and generic, or perhaps "generic store brand Fruit Loops" would take too much effort to say. I probably wouldn't have opted for that alternative if I were him, either. After some time, rings of delight are poured into both of our bowls. I am accustomed to the simplicity of Cheerios; they are an old friend that always does the trick when hunger strikes. Still, I have been tempted on occasion to ask for the Fruit Loops, but with one exception--a morning earlier this week wherein our Cheerios supply had been nearly wiped out--I have always fought that temptation off successfully. I gradually work through my meal, finishing off the fruit, the Pop Tart, and the cereal before moving on to the coffee, the apple juice, and water (in that order). I take my plate, bowl, and cups to the kitchen, rinsing everything off in the middle sink before placing them into the 'soap sink' (to keep the water as debris-free as I possibly can). I thank my house-mates for their help in cleaning up the kitchen, and of course I do not forget to thank the CNA for preparing breakfast for us. It is not possible for me to dislike her, or anyone else for that matter; if there was anything I could do to help her feel better I absolutely would. I'm surrounded by people who are obligated, in one form or another, not only to me but to many others. It is a humbling reminder that the world is so much bigger than myself or any of my problems. Though it is not meant to be insulting, and of course it is done out of earshot, I find I am slipping into a Jamaican accent as I help with picking up bits of Fruit Loops off the floor, near the chair of one house-mate who struggles to keep herself stable as she eats. Her arms shake and tremble in what I am led to believe is an involuntary state of motion, quite possibly signs of early onset Parkinson's. She is in a realistic age group for it; the late, great Muhammad Ali was in his mid-thirties when he began showing signs of the disease, and she herself is almost forty. I can only hope she hasn't taken any blows, especially not the sort which George Foreman or Earnie Shavers were capable of delivering. I bring her plate, bowl, and cups to the kitchen for her, and after some time has passed, my chance to take out the garbage comes. The weather outside is far more delightful than yesterday; the rains have all but completely dissipated, and along with them the odds of a potentially devastating fall; as it was last night, I am not wearing my slip-resistant shoes this morning either. Repetition of a mistake, but luckily the elements are unable to exploit it. I have developed a talent for chucking bags into the dumpster from a distance and imagine myself being similar to Michael Jordan in the playoffs, pressure at its pinnacle, delivering the critical shot to seal a victory or snatch it from the jaws of defeat. The bag is tossed, and it is nothing but net. Right in. Right on. Now if only I could be more proficient with tossing crumpled papers into the work cans...and better still, a lot more proficient with my writing. I should improve at both with time; it is not possible to get worse.