Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes.

At long last, my procrastination has been vanquished. Not wanting to jeopardize my streak of consecutive days having written a piece towards the book, I have managed to settle down and calm my overstimulated mind. Today's installment of the PBS News Hour makes for a suitable atmospheric backdrop for a while, but quickly becomes counterintuitive as I feel myself paying too much attention to what is being discussed. Turning the television off, I regain my focus and continue to write. Glancing up and to the left, I see two sixteen-packs of Crayola "Ultra-Clean Washable Large Crayons", a portion of the spoils of a quintet of Bingos at a JARC event last night. It is refreshing to see that the designs of the Crayola boxes have not changed too significantly since I was a child; the company definitely knows the meaning of sticking with something that isn't broken. I would have an additional box to look at--a twenty-four pack, to be precise--had I not chosen to gift it to a young man who I knew from working at the achievement center, to ensure he would have something to take home since he didn't get any Bingos. Of course, I have absolutely no regrets about doing so. After gazing at the boxes for a while, entranced by the vibrant color palettes, I put them back on top of the big dresser. A faint wind can be felt, not only above my head but behind my back. Not too long ago I was gifted a fan with five different levels of intensity, controllable by a remote. After some experimentation I managed to find an ideal spot for it; when I go to bed tonight, I'll be able to sleep with the fan blowing in my direction. Having loosened and separated the backboard from the chair, I can now lay my back directly onto the bed with no resistance. I take the opportunity to do so, to test the wind flow from the fan. With a yawn, I close my eyes and stretch out my arms. It's as though I'm flying. I visualize myself high above the ground soaring over the Grand Canyon, navigating friendly blue skies. Opening my eyes I rise, yawns coming to me again. It's been an eventful day in more ways than one; I missed a fitness session earlier this morning, though thankfully attendance was not mandatory. I had been invited to join, but by the time I headed to wait in the hallway, everyone else had already left. I also wound up missing the van ride home to the Joshua House, this time through no true fault of my own. Unfortunately, there is no 'proper' system in place to ensure that people at the day program are informed of when their time has come to go home. As opposed to a P.A. system that would make it possible to hear release announcements more clearly, I am at the mercy of a walkie-talkie with a cheap monophonic speaker, an announcer who--to put it very kindly--has some serious issues with articulating such messages loudly and authoritatively enough, and whatever external interference results in a given message not coming through as it was intended to be heard. When the call went out for Joshua House to head back home, I was washing dishes at the Parve station. They loaded up the van, and somehow, they managed to completely forget not only me but another house-mate who I'm blessed to work in the kitchen with. After spending a short period of time in the 'waiting room' (in our case, the front lobby of the main JARC building), we were both taken home by a kind lady employee who has become a good friend to me and many others. Having already mentally conditioned myself for the possibility that this may happen, it is nice to have finally gotten it out of the way. Next week, it may end up becoming a recurring theme, as I'll be taking part in after-work activities and coming home shortly after 5:00pm. I couldn't tell you exactly what those activities will be, and I'm sure they will change from week to week. What I can say for certain is that I am getting closer to having a PlayStation in my room; again, I couldn't tell you which generation it is, but among the many gift horses I refuse to look in the mouth, free video game consoles that also double as DVD players are high up on the list. Looking out the window I see the sun setting on the horizon, blue fading into a pastel yellow, a symphony that moves my soul. I've made it through another day. The strains of a synthesized rendition of "Auld Lang Syne", as it is heard in the Japanese arcade game "Quiz Gakumon no Susume", continue to resonate in my head. I have heard this song not by beating the game, a near impossible task for someone who can barely speak a word of Japanese, but by listening to a rip of the soundtrack uploaded to the VGMRips website. What makes this site unique is that rather than streaming recordings of the music in MP3 or OGG format, playback is facilitated through emulation of the original ICs and the CPUs that drive the sound, utilizing a JavaScript-based player. (For example, to play back music and sound effects from the game "Raimais", the player emulates a YM2610 IC for sound and a Z80 CPU to run the sound program.) Though a trifling matter to some, I am grateful to have heard many soundtracks this way. Much as one particular kitchen coworker finds his happy place in Itzik Kala and Eyal Golan, game music is a happy place for me. Taking a look at the crayons again, I feel compelled to hold onto them. I am not sure if I'll actually use them for their intended purpose. There is an inner child in me that loves crayons, but there is also an inner adult that got used to pens. Perhaps a combination of both, with pens to make shapes and crayons to color them in? Crayons also work well for heavy outlines, and are perfectly suitable for replicating the art style of "ChalkZone", in case the urge comes to try and draw any of those characters again. For now the boxes rest comfortably in a tiny dresser drawer, a spot having been allocated just for them. While going through the drawers I managed to find one of the items I had saved and brought with me to the Joshua House: a Purple Heart that was awarded to my step-great-grandfather Lionel H. Cornwall, for being wounded in battle during World War II. Though Cornwall first registered for service in 1919, the first Purple Hearts were not awarded until 1932; at the time of being awarded his Cornwall was at least 43 years old. Thinking of the courage he had, to fight at an advanced age in the most significant war in world history, fills me with hope for my future. In that Purple Heart I find not only my heartbeat but the heartbeat of an entire nation. Were it not for the bravery of these soldiers, I would have never known what freedom truly is.