Hibernation looks to be not the sole province of lower mammals.
A boon to larger beings with a weakness for the over-indulgent. So imprisoned by the seasonal, the financial, and the intangible guiles of persona.
Dormant; locked away from all, in the company of innermost thought. A mind free to wander into darkened recesses not oft explored. So thus, an accidental day; without speech or interaction of outer humanity.
Hours dull; no spark, a lackluster scene. Yet not without dutiful movement through the ceaseless procession of tasks. Lined up like gaunt destitutes, each awaiting their turn; Queue jumping forbidden.
A languid mire with allure hard defined; but nor indeed a lazy recline.
Moreover, an idea that behavior as this can be allowed. Which in itself marks a change from previous lives lived. However, this comes but not without risk.
The steady chipping away at the edifice of reason, leaving no visible scars for the passerby. Incomprehensible damage, apparent nevertheless.
Dwindling resources soon broker a break from this spire of isolation. For sustenance will better rule than procrastination.