Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Don't change a word of it, keep it is as it is written, but improve grammar where necessary.

Light is visible through corners of my doorway. It will soon be time for me to begin my early morning routine, though part of me is reluctant to look at the clock. I'm hoping I haven't left too narrow of a time window; the first showing of "Arthur" comes on at 6:00am on WPBT-TV. "It's now or never," I say to myself. I shift my mass over to the black chair. On the seat cushion, my phone continues to play an 'imaginary' (read: AI-generated) episode of The Joe Rogan Experience, wherein he interviews former President Donald Trump. Though the nature of the conversation is rather generic, and fails to explore the different creative directions that an actual interview may take, it has made for suitable background noise. With the video still playing in a small window, I go to check the time. It is 5:40. It looks like I've left myself just the right amount of time to make my bed, get a towel and bathrobe and take a shower without having to rush my way through it. Sure enough, when I finish up I'm back in my room with about a minute to spare before the funding credits start. I breathe a sigh of relief and proceed to put my clothes on. The A-side of today's episode, "Prunella Sees the Light", is one of my favorites, and quite relatable in more than one sense. Prunella goes out of her way to try and be as considerate as possible, knowing her friend Marina is coming over for a sleepover, but gets so caught up in her perceptions of Marina that she underestimates what Marina is actually capable of. There's a valuable lesson to be learned: while it is good to be concerned for others, we do not want to become 'helicopter friends'. I see this in action with two house-mates in particular, one of whom tends to be rather motherly with one of her more vulnerable peers, the same one who is now recognizable in our neck of the woods as the 'comic book shirt guy'. On the one hand, I cannot help but admire how caring she is, but by the same token I feel like there's a line between being a concerned friend and babying someone who doesn't necessarily need to be babied. He is older than me, and though he does need help with certain things he has demonstrated admirable proficiency in the fundamental tenets of self-care. He is able to feed himself without making too much of a mess; actually, especially in comparison with his sister, he barely makes messes at all. Sometimes he tries to leave the round table without having finished all of his food, though I don't know if his body has reached its limit and he's being forced to finish the remainder against his will. (I don't believe it's true; he's smaller than I am, but has the frame to support more weight without any problems.) He can dress himself, use the bathroom on his own, and even carry his laptop around (though hopefully a recent episode of dropping it while holding it with the screen up will convince him to shut it and carry it like a book, if he takes it elsewhere in the future). And even with his powers of articulation being seemingly inferior to his sister's own he is able to communicate at least as well simply through motions and movements, and even in a scream or grunt it is possible to at least partially decipher the condition of his emotional state. With the end credits playing, following the B-side ("Return of the Snowball"), I hear a voice calling out from the distance, and waste no time in getting to the round table. Most of my housemates are at the table already, but once again I have managed to avoid being the last one there. I am encouraged to dig into my food, and do so willingly. I start out with a small bagel with a sliver of cream cheese. I'm asked what cereal I want, and softly reply "Cheerios, please." The circular rings of delight fill my bowl and soon bathe in a generous supply of milk. I finish the bagel, and polish off the cereal spoonful by spoonful. There is some milk left. Normally, my instinct is to sip the milk, placing the bowl to my face. This time, I decide to poke pieces of fruit with my fork, and dip them in the milk one by one. It feels like I am committing a crime against all humanity, but I proceed with the experiment. Melon, tangerine, strawberry, banana, apple, and pear slices are all coolly caressed by the embrace of untold cows' silky, savory dairy emissions. All that remains now are three pineapple pieces. This is where the line must be drawn. I was insane enough to mix ranch dip with blueberry yogurt yesterday but am not willing to push the envelope that much further today. I eat the pineapple by itself, then consume a cup of coffee, a glass of cranberry juice and a cup of water (in that order). With a bit of quick problem solving, I'm able to coordinate the plate, bowl, silverware and glasses such that I can carry them to the kitchen sink with no need for a return trip. My focus immediately shifts toward the middle sink, as I recall the work configuration of soap, rinse, sanitize. I wash everything out, then put it all in the 'soap' sink. By this point, I normally say 'thank you' and head back to my room but things are a bit different this morning, and may remain that way for the foreseeable future. An older housemate who is normally responsible for taking out the garbage has recently experienced a change in his medication, and stands to experience potential spells of dizziness that could impede his ability to take it out on his own. My name, and another name, are suggested. I immediately volunteer for the task, and with some prompting from a longer-tenured housemate I am able to locate a nearby dumpster. In it goes, and so the routine has been settled from now on. Being young and still having strength, I feel it has come time for me to have a chore I can assume responsibility for. Now, I can do more than simply eat, write, and sleep. Retreating to my inner sanctum, I sit down to write what you're reading now. I am able to complete a fair bit, before the employment of an amplified vocalization prompts me to head to the living room. I sit and watch a few minutes of the news with everyone. It seems there's a high probability of rain today, at least 50%. And sure enough, midway through our morning ride to the day program, the rain begins to sing a melody that is healing yet intense, each droplet as a tear from the eyes of our Creator. These droplets are a blessing to the farmers, who can now be assured of the growth of their crops, at least temporarily. Then again, it's a poignant yet beautiful irony that impermanence is the only permanent truth of our existence. We're here. My housemate lets out a shriek of delight. He shrieks again. We enter the building through a different door than the one we've grown accustomed to. Everyone moves in their own time. Some hobble, others glide. The more ignorant side of me laments how slowly some of them move, the more compassionate side considers that perhaps that's as fast as they can go. This too shall pass. Not long after, I've made it to the break room. My coworker is waiting for me once again. This time, we start with Tamir Gal, a bit of Barney and 'finger family' videos. It's a busy day today, as this is the only day where we serve to the customers. My time gets divided between washing and drying wares at the 'parve' station, scooping apples and cranberries into trays, labeling lids, rinsing out wares at the 'meat' station and performing a little bit of "Warm It Up Kane" at a lunchtime fitness session. It's been a while but I still know the first verse by heart.