Introduction

It’s 6:43 a.m. Your epistemic day begins. You wake up, open your eyes, look around. You see your cheap digital alarm clock with its obnoxiously bright red numbers. Somewhat blurrily, and more than a little blearily, you see your dusty nightstand, which is full of nicks and dings from your last move, as well as the goofy watercolor painting from your niece, featuring a koala in a top hat, on the wall in front of you. Then you look around a bit more and see other things—blankets, dressers, clothes, your partner. You also hear a punctuated squeal—a garbage truck’s unmistakably boisterous brakes. You feel a chill in the air, particularly near your left foot, which, as usual, has leaked out from under your sheets. You also smell your breath (not good) as it echoes off your blanket, and, alas, you taste its noxious underpinnings too. And more. Perceptual information streams in. New knowledge piles up. Your epistemic day is off and running.