He tries to keep me in bed all day. I struggle, and eventually break away from His chains of indolence, but He tries His best to keep me in bed. He is my Master, at least for now. He force-feeds me seductive carbohydrates, to make me fat and sleepy. He saps my will and dulls my brain. He declares Himself King, with Dominion over all, my Lord and Master whose Power will triumph over all others who pretend to own my body and brain.
I arm myself.
I have my advisors,
my potions and pills,
my magic lights,
my furry familiars
who demand obedience
and eventual breakfast.
But day by day He pulls me under, further down into the grey sea of December. I don't even gasp for air. I give myself to His suffocating love, His yearly attempt to claim me permanently as His own.
I struggle, I moan, I fight my way out of bed, I fight the seduction, and mark off the calendar squares until the day His spell goes up in flames.
On the other hand, it could just be a cold.