Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes.

5:20am, an absolutely symmetrical time. The bigger number is a perfect multiplication, by four, of the smaller number. It has been nearly thirty minutes since I was awakened by a nice lady working on the Saturday 'night shift', who told me it's now my time to take a shower. She is the same reason why I actually slept under a blanket last night, for the first time since I had moved in one week ago. Being in a different, smaller bed felt unfamiliar to me, and it was an unusual experience not having any of my reliable old blankets, my seldom-washed marvels of fabric engineering that had become so accustomed to the contours and grooves of my skin that they were practically additional limbs at this point. I slept atop the blankets, figuring out how best to orient my head for optimal comfort. The room is still very much that of the young man who had been its prior occupant but at this point it has been customized enough to be more suitable for my personal needs. And as with everything in life, a transition has been made. It is surreal to have gone from a spacious house, only recently made more spacious through clearing out various items, to one room. It is sizable enough for my needs, and blessed by good design sense. The architects saw fit to make not only the walls tall, but the doors too...they feel like they've been built to Shaquille O'Neal specifications, and I can't help but feel tiny every time I open that door and close it. Tiny in a good sense, as it reminds me I am but a speck on the face of a big, beautiful planet. Once again, IRISHBUDDAFILTH has become the soundtrack to my slumber. Instead of dealing with bill collectors who had been calling for his sister, who had not lived at his current residence in more than 20 years, this time around he was wasting the time of sales representatives (read: scammers) trying to sell him on a Caribbean cruise line, where the cruise ships were little more than old ferries. The reps, from what I understand, are pressured to lie to get customers registered as it equals commission for them, and are asked to up-sell as much as humanly possible. It appears to be suitable for 'night noise'; there is something calming, not in the sense of being your traditional sort of ASMR but in a more humanistic sense, about hearing an average Joe deal with the scum of the Earth. I've never seen him get angry, or even slightly flustered; he stays in control the whole time, and puts them in their place. While some may find his approach rather controversial by today's standards, especially when he is dealing with scammers from foreign countries, he remains a worthy reference point for good methods of handling questionable individuals. Of course, the best method is to simply ignore that email, or let that phone call go to voicemail, when you don't recognize who it came from. Yesterday, I had been asked whether I'd like to go bowling or see a movie. For me, it was an easy choice: bowling for sure. I have never been the best bowler, to say the least--my highest score I can remember getting in a game was 84, a far cry from a perfect 300. But for my bad luck as a bowler, it remains one of my favorite activities. The feeling of rolling the ball down the lane, seeing whether it will get to the pins or wind up in the gutter, the smell of greasy pizza wafting into your nostrils, and vintage arcade games in the back--I've still got fond memories of going to a place with a Mortal Kombat II cabinet, and another with a Simpsons machine (the four-player version)--is nostalgic as few other moments in the old 'memory bank' have been. As much as I love movies, if given a choice between seeing a movie and bowling, I would always take bowling because at least it gets you up and keeps you active. My stomach now full after having had sliced melon and pineapple, pancakes, french toast sticks, apple juice, coffee, and water, I have returned to this desk to resume the writing process. 6:24am is the number staring back at me. Yet another number with a symmetrical element to it: the addition of the two and four yields the six. Tomoko Aran's "I'm In Love", playing at a volume high enough to be heard but low enough that I'm essentially the only one who can hear it right now, resonates from my phone. I am tempted to hook up my blue earbuds and listen at a higher volume, but I am satisfied with the feelings I experience hearing it at this volume. It is such an elegant, austere arrangement, synthesizers making love to a steady rhythm, a luscious bass guitar complemented by seductive piano tones. Perhaps the most seductive part is Aran herself; her voice glides effortlessly over the musical backdrop with a sound so stimulating it can be considered a natural pheromone. Also appreciated is how she does not say anything during the bridge, for though I would have enjoyed hearing a little 'love talk', she instead lets the track ride and leaves room for a fantastic guitar solo. At the end, her vocals begin to fade into the ether of the instrumental, her last 'love' repetition resonating as though she had been singing in a cave the entire time as the drumbeats from the opening return for the conclusion. It remains not only one of the best love songs I have ever heard but one of the most perfect listening experiences I've ever enjoyed. I have yet to summon up the courage to play it at a high volume, and such courage proves unnecessary at the moment as the birds outside are now treating me to their own melodies. The sun has not yet reached peak brightness, but it is well on its way as the darkness of night has once again been vanquished by daybreak. After a brief episode of 'stage fright' the birds have regained their confidence and sing again with renewed vigor. I can now make out some of the leaves on a bush right outside my window. It is nice to have a view of the great outdoors, a glimpse to the hope of what is to come. Yesterday, we visited a local restaurant; this seems to be a tradition on Saturdays, and based on how things went I am looking forward to experiencing that tradition again. An interest in ordering cheese fries was misinterpreted as a cheeseburger and fries; rather than correcting the mistake I went with it as it sounded good as well. Regrettably, not so much for my taste buds but for my interest in an eventual conversion to Judaism, I did opt to have bacon on it. A day or two prior, I had turkey bacon with my breakfast. Some people aren't big on it, and I can honestly understand why, but I enjoyed mine a lot. Several yawns come and go, but the desire for a little more rest lingers. You'll be okay, Cam.