Terms of psychic warfare, no. 2

I usually post on January 7th as my form of self-acknowledgment on my birthday but 52 is a throwaway, it was snowing and I'd woken up with a bad head cold, so that went right out the window.

Then I was going to write on Inauguration Day last Friday but I don't think purging through this avenue would have helped the sour mood.  Last weekend was one mired in surreality, not just for me but for, it seems, an entire planet, flummoxed by the notion that someone so incapable to hold the office of President of the United States of America could, indeed, have been sworn in as the 45th Commander-In-Chief.  For the record, I've hated Donald Trump since the '80's.  As a born-and-raised New Yorker and still-resident, he's been a blight on this city.  Now he's a human stain, covering the country.  I'll never support him or his goon squad that he's assembled as his cabinet.  It's both a sham and a shame and hopefully, there will be a day of reckoning and justice for him and his underlings.

It's still January; winter - my least favorite time of year.  It only fills me with general disgust at the constant cold and early darkness and the desire to do nothing when I come home from work or from the general errands to be run on weekends.  Yet, I can't help the fact that I do feel, by and large, pretty good.  Why - I don't know.  But in a moment when things surrounding me are all negative, I will take this and run with it.