The station caretaker came into the station at four AM. lit the fire in the potbellied stove in the waiting room below the boys bedroom, met the way-freight, unloaded the mail and manhandled the jangling cream cans on the platform attached to the station and we never woke up. Sensory adaptation.
However, when the running employees went on strike and the trains stopped running for a few days the silence was eerie. We all woke up repeatedly during the night. Habituation, no matter how chaotic
told you everything must be alright with the world. We adapt to the familiar , however unusual, but change, seemingly innocuous, brings sensory adaptation to a halt. Unconsciously alert to danger. There is little control of part of the autonomous brain which serves protection.