First, it has to be borne in mind, always, always, how strange this is. The mornings are grey, usually -- flat dark clouds reach across your window when you wake.
You set the alarm now, where the gathering sound of traffic used to wake you. You move through the place you would once have been out of for the day within half an hour, every centimetre of which you now know.
As Radio National tells tales of elsewhere, where people are going to public inquiries and offices, you scrub your hands, before you brush your teeth or otherwise touch your face -- like you were operating on yourself.