To Sleep, Perchance to Dream?

I need to change my sleeping patterns. Sleep comes disgustingly late, arising too early for my body but too late for the demands of our world. Habits are hard to change. It's not helpful that I hate to sleep. As I enter the space between waking life and dreams, the pockets of muscle tremors that jolt me awake also remind me that there's an experience I could be having instead of laying paralyzed and numb.

The other side of it is that I also love the morning. Due to my late habitual bedtime, there have been a few early-mornings when I've watched the sun rise, the dawn break, and heard the morning birds sing. I can't help but think how nice it would be to get up with the sun after a night's full sleep. The morning hours have an aura of peaceful solitude. It feels like you could actually own those hours of the day; each and every person could have a piece of time at his or her own disposal. The promise of an untouched day like a morning glory, blossomed and dewy, ready to pick: the petals closing around opportunity as the dawn moves West along terrestrial latitudes.

The night feels opposite. Night is for congregation - bacchanalian hours used to release, to explore, and to be enveloped in human interaction. Without this, night is lonely. It's dark, quiet, foreboding and intensely introspective. Alone, night is reflection. Like the moon reflects on a dark body of water, the consciousness reflects against the supertemporal trenches of individual experience.

I really want the birth and not the death of the day.