the tale of the night monger

I couldn't remember the last time I stayed up so late. When I was younger I lived by night. What now is just an hour stretching farther and farther til dawn, greeted only with a groan--morning has come and you gotta get up, no matter how you slept, no matter if you slept, you gotta get up--was the hour that shot by like some twinkle in the sky, like a dream. I could sleep during the morning; what was there to do in the morning anyway? I lived on a different plane while the rest of the world slept.
What's what I wanted to believe anyway. But it's true, now my night is just something to get through peacefully, something to preserve because it's the time set aside to recuperate for the next day. I always liked the morning, but I was never a morning person. I liked the bright golden morning and I liked the cool breezey mid-day and I liked the warm afternoon and I liked the sun setting in the evening and I liked late night, but I loved the dead night hours. There was no life then, but I was active. I've spent so long waiting for life to happen til I realized that life is happening but I'm not happening with it. Where have I been? I'm under there somewhere. Now that life is happening how do I happen with it?