4:38 a.m.

For as long as I remember, my internal clock has been set to wake me up at a certain time every morning, generally ten to fifteen minutes before the regular workday alarm would go off - weekday or not. At the moment, that internal clock is stuck on 4:38 a.m.

It is a bit freaky to consistently, day after day (or rather night after night) surface to consciousness at exactly the same time every day, whether it is to groan and roll out of bed, or roll over, pulling the covers over my head. Most days, it's do the first while thinking of the second.

As much as I love early mornings - the quiet, the crisp, cold air, the self-righteous satisfaction of being awake and moving before most of the rest of the world - I'm not exactly Sister Mary-Margaret Sunshine first thing. That first hour or so is lived in my head, reviewing the day's plans, thinking over weighty thoughts (make coffee at home or pick some up) and fighting off any lingering sleep-fog.

Oh, if pressed I can make conversation during that first hour - but beware, as my internal filters take some time to become operational after a night spent letting dreams romp freely around my unconscious. What you are likely to get is a waterfall of words, carrying with it the rocks, tree roots, clumps of dead leaves and old shoes that usually get caught in the weir, dammed up before reaching the main stream.

A bit like what is happening now.

I need to retreat back into that lovely, open space in my mind - grab the Kindle and head off to Starbucks for some reading before church and a quick review of the grocery list and meal plan I've already written up today.

After all, I've already been up for two hours.