The computer turns itself on every morning. I only know it's morning by the light level in my cubicle. Its walls stretch to the ceiling where a bulbous cross-hatch of lights brightens then fades to mark the passage of time. I have never been out of my cubicle. It has been my workspace and my home for as long as I can remember. When I'm not sleeping, I'm working. I have three minutes to get in my chair and log into the system. I know what happens if I don't.
