Rock Band 2, Fried Foods, and No Discipline

Two weeks into the new year and I feel I'm still in the midst of the holidays. For all practical purpose, I've been on vacation since Thanksgiving. Almost two months. It's horrible (but not really). As a writer, one should try to write a bit every day. Have you encountered that nugget of advice before? I have --it's quite standard. Sounds solid. Hard to argue against it. Practice makes perfect and all that.
But I've a confession. It's been several weeks since I've written a word. I did do a bit of research at Paula Deen's place in Savannah, though. Very nice. Terrific fried chicken. From Savannah, we cruised south to Daytona and shacked up on the beach. Nice and quiet there this time of year. Empty really. Good time to film a zombie movie. Very nice.
We drove east and racked up loads of family time in Tampa and Ocala. Lots more food. Fried things and chocolate covered things and cream and sugar and shortening. I've since developed a shortness of breath and tingling numbness in my fingers and toes. I'm hoping a salad will clear it up.
On the heels of the new year, we gathered for a festival of sorts. We titled it Cuzapalooza 2, since we'd had one before. Cousins from my partner's side arrived bearing adult beverages and an electronic thingamabob titled Rock Band 2. Ever heard of it? We played about 11 hours straight that first day. Bon Jovi's "Wanted! Wannnn--te-ed! Dead or al--liiiiiive" is still stuck in my head. Like a knife. It's not good. Really horrible.
And I want to play again.
Luckily it's gone now. Along with the mixers and deep fried pita chips and most of the cream cheese.
At the moment it's freezing. Soon we'll head out for a swim with the manatees. Two more weeks of vacation to go. Might as well make it two months even.
Then I'll write some more.
Maybe struggle through a set of sit-ups.
Happy New Year and all that.