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

How much light can one vampire take? Better yet, how much does one need if he requires it to survive? I found myself wondering about that this morning as I stepped out of my room. A few knocks on my door prompted me to grab my white bath towel, a blue robe and some watered-down shampoo. Heading into the hallway, I was greeted by an abundance of lights. It felt brighter than normal, and by pure instinct I found myself squinting my eyes as I headed to the designated men's bathroom. Once there, I looked at myself in the mirror, so I could see what I look like when I squint. Well, no, not really; I would like to think I am not that vain. An extra switch that I don't normally turn on had been activated by the CNA in charge this morning. "Not a problem," I thought to myself. Not only can I tolerate having some more light, I welcomed it. The CNA and I seem to be getting along more, now that we have had a chance to get to know each other. She is planning on going back to school to finish a nursing degree; I wished her the very best of luck. I told her that I wouldn't have a problem with reviewing her work if she wanted to share any written assignments with me. It has been a while since anyone has asked me to proofread something that they wrote. Granted, I am sure some people will probably tell me I am in desperate need of a proofreader myself, and my writing is certainly fair game for external critiques. Yesterday was the birthday of a dear housemate and friend, and we found different ways to celebrate, including seeing "Twisters" at the Cinemark Palace 20 (a very good movie that nearly lives up to the 1996 classic which served as its inspiration) and a surprise dinner at the Olive Garden near my old house--inspired by this housemate's love of Italian food--as this is, apparently, the closest Olive Garden to where I live now. It's unfortunate that the weekend house manager had to drive such a long way, but I am glad she did. I found myself being initially attracted by the Shrimp Fritto Misto, and after going over several other possibilities--including a suggestion of getting Fettucini Alfredo--I came back to my original choice. I am glad I did, as I got more or less the same number of calories for several dollars less and came in well under my $21 limit. (Not sure why they didn't just make it an even $20, but an extra dollar is nothing to complain about.) The 'birthday girl' had the Lasagna Classico and a complementary Chocolate Lasagna for dessert. I felt bad when we ended up having to go without her having eaten a single bite of the latter, as she wanted to share it with her housemates. The cake came on a platter with multiple spoons, yet somehow we were not provided with extra dessert plates. Earlier that day, I listened to STR8Fightah's "In My Eyez" and kept replaying one lyric in my mind, where he references his favorite fighter, Rubin "Hurricane" Carter. I was inspired to take that song, slow it down, and down-sample it to 8 kHz VOX ADPCM. The VOX format is compatible with OKI6295, a legendary sound IC that was used in hundreds of arcade games, and possibly well over a thousand. (That's just counting unique games, not including bootlegs and updates of already existing titles.) Without getting too technical, ADPCM compression can result in a gritty, 'grimy' sound suitable for hip-hop, especially at lower sample rates. 8 kHz is a good balance of small file sizes and fidelity. The OKI6295 could accept samples up to 256KB; at 8 kHz that comes out to just over a minute of audio. In my case, I would have needed to break the samples up and implement a bank-switching system to play them one after the other, or keep the song at its original tempo (or speed it up ever so slightly) to keep it within the 256KB limit. Not a problem, as the point of this experiment was to see what ADPCM compression would do to the song when combined with slowing down the pitch and tempo. I feel like it sounds good this way, good enough so that I was compelled to take a couple of my old T-shirts that I brought with me and write "R.I.P. RUBIN "HURRICANE" CARTER" on the back of them. (I had written on another shirt in the past, one that reads "THREE DAYS UNTIL MARIO STEALS YOUR LIVER", referencing a meme from several years ago that most people have already forgotten about.) I opted to customize my hat in a similar way, writing "R.I.P. JACQUI" and "R.I.P. RICHARD" in memory of my deceased parents. On the brim I initially wrote "R.I.P. RUBIN CARTER," squeezing in the word ""HURRICANE"" when I saw there was enough space to do so. I have found myself inspired by the story of Carter, a courageous middleweight best known for knocking out the renowned Emile Griffith in one round, and for his title shot against Joey Giardello (a loss over 15 rounds, which is nothing to be ashamed of as he had only 24 pro bouts going in [including the TKO of Griffith], whereas the champion was a veteran of 128 pro fights). He was wrongly convicted and imprisoned for murder, serving almost 20 years in Rahway State Prison before being released following a habeas corpus petition; to this day, it is a powerful story, one reflecting the racial injustice of the times, and inspired him to become an advocate for others in a similar situation, culminating in his becoming executive director of what is today known as "Innocence Canada"(but at the time was known as the Association in Defence of the Wrongly Convicted). He was just as courageous outside the ring as he was in the squared circle. In 1996, three years into an eventual twelve as AIDWYC's executive director, he was arrested after being mistakenly identified by Toronto police as a thirty-something suspect believed to have sold drugs to an undercover officer. (He was 59 at the time and I can't help but be reminded of the saying about how "black don't crack.") Of course, when the police realized their error, he was released. A damning reflection on the state of race relations in the 1990s; one cannot help but wonder just how far society as a whole had come in the several decades since Carter's boxing career was ended due to the original false accusations. Having had a chance to look through a box containing several items from my Mom's old office at her former place of employment, my eyes are drawn to a crystal plaque gifted to her by her friends at PROPEL (People Reaching Out to Provide Education and Leadership), which she co-founded back in 2002, and more specifically the following words: "For your Selfless Devotion to our Mission - For your Commitment and Dedication - For your Integrity and Purity of Spirit - We at PROPEL, will Forever be Grateful - May God Bless You Always." I can't help but smile; in a few words, whoever wrote that had managed to capture all of the qualities that made her who she was, and which inspire me to do my best in my current endeavors. To the right of that plaque is a portrait of me following my graduation from Florida Atlantic University in 2014, covered in various sashes and ribbons, wearing a medal and a cap with a tassel. I am drawn to the smile on my face. The future seemed so promising, until it wasn't. Maybe there is still time to make a difference. Perhaps I didn't throw my potential away after all. The old, water-damaged photograph of me with the "Mathematics" certificate still hangs on my wall, held up by two repurposed pieces of tape. A coincidentally tombstone-shaped piece of cardboard can now be found in close proximity with "R.I.P. RUBIN "HURRICANE" CARTER" on it, held up by a yellow pushpin that was being redundantly used to secure a small U.S. flag upon the wall. Inspiration in many forms.