4:00am

It's 4:00am exactly.
Even the ox-hour has passed.
I can't sleep, obviously, though have been asleep. I looked at the time first at
2:46am, and fully expected to get back to sleep again. To no avail. After an hour of fruitless attempts to find a comfortable spot to lie on, I admitted defeat and switched on the light.
I don't remember dreaming when I was asleep. What I do remember was the window rattling in the window frame, which was strange as I didn't hear any wind. I eventually had to jam a knife in between the window and frame which seemed to stop the rattling nicely.
4:00am. Well, 4:05am.
This doesn't feel like the night. It isn't the small hours. It's not quite the morning either. It feels like descending a hill, when the steep slope begins to shallow out a little.
Looking down on a country town, no longer distant.
A book has somehow crept onto my bed; 'Essential Pre-Raphaelites'. Did I look through it waiting for the computer to boot up? I am quite pleased with the book. It only cost me £3:49 from the charity shop on Blatchington Road. I wish they hadn't had to print Millais' Ophelia over two pages, cutting her face in half. Nasty paper cut.
The fridge has come on. Why are fridges so loud at night? It seems to be emitting a veritable chorus of noises. I can detect at least three tones; a mid-pitch buzz, a deeper monk-like humming, and a higher, ethereal sound that reminds me both of something futuristic and arctic wastes.
I feel in a strangely good mood, as if I am looking forward to somthing tomorrow.
I wonder if anyone else I know is awake? Sarah might be. She often gets up for work early. Still, maybe this is too early even for her.
If this was summer, it would be getting light now.
I really must try to get to sleep.