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

5:40am. The bigger number is a multiplication by eight of the smaller one, though you likely figured that out before I finished typing this sentence. The mood is a bit more relaxed this morning, as it seems the long-suffering CNA who normally works on the weekends has gotten a break, at least for the moment. In all likelihood, she will return on Saturday night to handle things next Sunday and Monday morning. I'm sure she has probably been experiencing symptoms of burnout, which is understandable as it pertains to the nature of the job. In her stead, another woman is taking care of things today. I was informed that the time has come to get up; arising to check my phone, I noticed that the time was 5:15. After making my bed, which has a fresh spread thanks to the efforts of Evelyn and her son this past Sunday, I grabbed my bathrobe and a big white towel and headed to the bathroom. Without incident I was able to handle business and get my morning shower in; the night before, I took my first evening shower since moving in, after being advised by another CNA who normally works on weekday evenings and throughout the weekend that there is nothing wrong with doing so. It felt quite refreshing, and the effects were only aided when the hallway lights were turned off shortly after 8:00pm. I was reminded of a Quora thread I had seen that discusses the positives and negatives of group homes, in which one of the commenters posed a question regarding why there is such an impetus to get the residents to and up from bed so early when most of them do next to nothing on a daily basis. I cannot speak for any of the others, but I've found myself benefiting more and more lately from getting into a more structured routine. I am up early enough to take stock of my environment, to pay attention to things as they are before the stimulation caused by constant streams of audiovisual immersion begin to factor into the equation of a given day. Once everyone has had breakfast, once the television is turned on and those with phones begin to immerse themselves in whatever music, shows or games are fascinating them lately it becomes more difficult to tune it all out. For the moment distancing myself from the madness comes rather easily. I am further from my windows than before, yet close enough to see that sunrise has not come yet. The songs of nearby birds are relatively discernible from my vantage point, beautiful, rich and encouraging as they have ever been. For now, it is peaceful. Though one particular house-mate has felt the need to communicate his usual brand of joyous shrieks, in all likelihood an effect achieved through whatever content he is engrossed in on his computer--which was recently repaired, for what I believe is the second time since I moved in, or the second time in nearly two months--it proves to be no disruption. Actually, it is always fascinating to hear him explore his capabilities for expressing himself, although CNAs try to discourage it as I am sure they may have received complaints from other residents in the past. Once again, my old CC radio, a four-in-one that supports FM, AM, analog TV and the weather band, served as the driving force for my 'night music'. Though it has only been a couple of days to this point, I have already grown accustomed to hearing the National Weather Service during my slumber. There is something hypnotic, yet oddly comforting, about that computer voice and the sort of feelings I experience while hearing the information it relays. It is loud enough to be heard, but not so loud that my mind tunes into it and out of sleep. Actually, I find myself tuning in and out at my leisure, stopping for moments at a time throughout the night to observe the NWS' most recent news. It does not seem to have proved a distraction, as the last two nights have been among my most restful in recent memory. Contemplating the day ahead I hear a familiar voice, one that seems to be stressed. If I am not mistaken, it is indeed the same CNA who has been filling in each night for the past week, which leads me to wonder if she was in an unusually kind mood this morning, or if there had actually been another CNA filling in during the night, who made an early departure. I am led to believe it is the former, though it was genuinely surprising to find her in a calmer mood than normal, as it took a good thirty or so minutes before I heard her get loud with any of the other house-mates. With minutes to go before 6:00am, or almost immediately after it arrived, I heard the breakfast call go out, and wasted no time in answering it. I was not the first one at the table, nor was I the last (that honor went to the same house-mate who has become known for his joyful shrieking and fascinating collection of T-shirts, though his NASA number today seemed to fall slightly below his usual exciting standard). Upon taking my seat, I was greeted by an assortment of blueberries, one half-slice of bagel with the tiniest streaks of cream cheese one could possibly imagine (still, it was better than having none at all), and an empty cereal bowl. The choices today are a full bag of dollar store knockoff Fruit Loops (hey, I can't front; the dollar brands, at a fraction of the mainstream brands' price points, usually outdo their more well-known counterparts by a wide margin!) and the remnants of a steadily shrinking supply of regular Cheerios. As the CNA goes down the line--or should I say, around the table--I see the supply of Cheerios is shrinking; by the time she gets to me, she asks me which of the two I would prefer. It's almost comical at this point, as with the amount of Cheerios left, it wouldn't be enough to fill my bowl even halfway to the top. While under normal circumstances I would not dare entertain the thought, I opt for the generic Fruit Loops, simply by virtue of there being a much greater amount of them left. It turns out to be really delicious, the flavor more reminiscent of vintage Fruit Loops from the 1990s as I can recall them tasting a lot like this when I was a child. Once again, the clone beats the original. In a rare occurrence, I am actually the first one to finish their breakfast, though I was consciously trying to ensure that did not happen; another house-mate offered their half-bagel and blueberries as their dietary situation precludes them from having either, and had I not been so self-conscious about not wanting to seem like a 'pig' (especially as I've lost almost sixty pounds since this past December), I have no doubt I would have avoided being a first-place finisher. Even so, I bring my plate, bowl, and cups (one for coffee, one for orange juice, and one for water) to the kitchen sink, and about ten to fifteen minutes later, safely drop off the garbage in a nearby dumpster. Thus far, the morning has progressed without incident. I take a moment to admire the neater arrangement of dressers that Evelyn and her son both facilitated on Sunday. Between one small dresser (which holds my electric razor and desktop) and the bigger one on which my monitor, keyboard, mouse, Roland MA-12 speakers, and desk lamp reside, there's more than enough space to hold the 'essentials'. Seeing my TV successfully resting on the giant dresser, with everything properly hooked up, any show I watch feels like a bit more of an event, from a rerun of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" to a modern blockbuster motion picture. One lone bird chirps from afar. Night is now day. Time to make it bright.