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

5:43am. I like how the numbers seem to line up. One counts down to another, and that counts down too. Our house manager is on the premises now, and runs a tighter ship than the other CNAs who have been in charge every morning thus far. For the first time since I moved in back in April, she is in charge this morning. It's a one-woman show, with her helping the vulnerable residents shower and preparing a breakfast that turned out to be exceptionally nourishing. But more on that in a moment. I knew things would be different when I noticed the lights were turned off shortly after 8:00pm last night. I had a show still airing on my TV, and was doing nothing of particular interest on the computer. Strangely, I had accidentally turned it to channel 3, and knew things weren't right when I saw a commercial come on. It was supposed to be on WPBT-TV (channel 2), and I know for a fact that my local PBS affiliates never show commercials during their programming. The closest they ever get to showing commercials in the mainstream sense is when imaginary ones appear in episodes of shows; for example, "To Eat or Not to Eat", a recently reran episode of Arthur where Buster and his mother crack down on a candy company that puts strange chemicals in a popular 'Big Boss' bar that got him and some of his friends hooked like drug addicts, features an in-universe advertisement for the bar. Fortunately, I do not end up on the receiving end of a chastisement for neglecting to turn my television off in a given time frame. I eventually do shut it off, not finding anything on the air during the hour compelling enough for me to stay tuned, and shortly after 9:00am I settle down to sleep, a compilation of Mike Tyson interview moments providing the backdrop for my slumber. I have to keep it at a slightly lower volume as Tyson has a tendency to swear when he gets in his emotions (particularly during the infamous "Get him in a straitjacket!" moment at the Lewis-Tyson press conference back in 2002). And so it was. A good rest ensued. Shortly before 5:00am, the lights come on, and I can see it penetrating through the openings in my door frame. The house manager asks me if I've showered yet. "No, ma'am," I reply. She tells me the time has come for me to do so. "Yes, ma'am." I get out of bed, rising to another opportunity for me to hopefully shine. I wonder if I should make the bed first, just in case she comes to do a room inspection. I realize that this is going to delay the proceedings, but not wanting to take a needless chance, I proceed to do so. She calls out again to let me know she is still waiting for me to shower. "Yes, ma'am." I quickly put on my underwear, get my bathrobe on, grab a towel, and head straight to the bathroom. Feeling a pressure to take care of business just in case either of my other two male house-mates need to do the same thing, I get in the shower, soaping, lathering, and rinsing my skin as thoroughly as possible but with an awareness of timing. I dry off, put my robe back on and return to my room without incident. I put on my clothes, starting out with a red shirt and teal pants, then my slip-resistant shoes and a pair of beige Dickies socks. A blue cap tops off the strange ensemble, or at least it would if I didn't have to also put on my white-collared work shirt, which will soon be adorning my frame. I can't fight the urge any longer, and take a break mid-sentence to brush my teeth before resuming today's piece. Getting back to the heart of the matter, after turning on my computer, I waste no time in opening up Notepad. I wait for the rest of the icons to appear on the bottom of my screen. This time, not one but two OpenOffice icons appear. Yesterday, I downloaded OpenOffice.org 3.0.1, one of the first versions with DOCX support (it can read these files, but not write to that format; it's perfectly fine since since I save everything as .doc anyway, for legacy compatibility purposes). Interestingly, the installer gives you an option of keeping your previous OpenOffice.org version or overwriting the files. I've gotten used to version 2.4.3, the last one with native Windows 98/ME support; though it is quite old by today's standards, it runs nice and snappy on my HP Pavilion Slimline. I can do almost everything with it that I could do with a modern office suite, save for the lack of DOCX compatibility. Luckily, I can keep 2.4.3 as my main suite and a later version for DOCX, PPTX, and XLSX files. Focusing on Notepad now, I am able to account for a few thoughts before one of my house-mates kindly notifies me that it is breakfast time. We are eating much earlier than before. It's a routine I could get used to. The others walk, I glide. I feel like I am in the air, propelled by an invisible force. Sitting down in my chair, I am greeted by one of the most immaculate-looking bowls of oatmeal I have ever seen, a beautiful cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of water. Oatmeal is, in my humble opinion, the king of breakfast cereals, and by far my favorite of all the breakfast foods. To have it today is a luxury, and I don't say that sarcastically or facetiously. I tuck into the first bite. It is delicious. However, because oatmeal is so dense, I have to chew each spoonful slowly. At the behest of another house-mate, I try to chew at a more uptempo pace but find myself gagging. Eventually, I do finish, bringing the drink wares, bowl, and spoon to the sink after properly disposing of my napkin. I take a moment to practice my affirmations, giving myself credit for having shown restraint by not speaking up when I was tempted to. Though it is frustrating to be admonished, especially when it seems as though you've done nothing wrong, I try with everything I have to see things through the eyes of my criticizers. My house manager is a lovely woman but has a tendency to be temperamental. I can understand why. She is getting older and already has at least one grandchild. She has been working for JARC for fourteen years at the minimum. She is a tenured vet who has seen it all. I am hoping to be the least of her worries, as I am sure she has enough to deal with from the other residents who live here. Again, I count my blessings; I don't take any medications, I'm not afflicted by sleep troubles, and for the most part I've been able to achieve and display a degree of independence. I am not counting down the days until I am 'free'. I am already free regardless of what walls are holding me. Yesterday I almost invited the manager's wrath during a visit to the Boca Black Box for a performance of "Legally Blonde Jr." I pushed my seat back to try and give walkers more room only to be asked not to do so. By instinct, I do so again when I see someone coming through and now I get scolded. I'm not sure if this woman understands that I was trying to be considerate, but I humbly remain quiet. I've come too far, and been through too much, to risk being able to have a roof over my head. As the old saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. I stoically take in the performance. It's another opportunity to experience live theater. I reflect on my prediction that in ten years, it will be more common to see robots, cyborgs, holograms, etc. than actual human beings on a theater stage. I do not want to be proven correct but I suspect I will be. I go to get my work shirt out of the closet and prepare for the day ahead. It is rewarding to have another chance to help feed many hungry folks.