You've seen the tops of clouds. (Fog counts. Also: photographs.) You can breathe beneath the sea. (Theoretically.) You laugh with friends from across the world... or at least, you laugh at the same things they're laughing at, even if they don't know that you exist.

What you're trying to say is that you're basically a god, and the day starts when you flipping say it does. 

The digital birds are chirping in your pocket. The electric sun is shining: a string of christmas lights on an eight-dollar timer. If it's dark out-of-doors at 6:00 in November, you've no way of knowing through the insulating quilt duct-taped over the heat-leaky windowpane.