My new plan to not allow myself to get up until I've written something, that is.
Its only downside is that the punishment for not writing isn't what you could exactly call harsh, as in my current state of torpor I could happily stay in bed all day, thanks to my MacBook Air, flannel sheets, new mattress and miserable U.K.-type weather, especially as my New Year resolution is to hibernate as much as possible for the month of January.
There. See? Done. And it's not as though I have to get up. I can stay here as long as I want, sitting up in my little trundle bed in the very far north-east corner of this, to me huge, house, right in the ell formed by one great big north-facing window and one great big east-facing window, lost in the mists of what other people call the mountains and which I, with my horrible literal-mindedness, don't.
But I can if I want to.
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