You fascists are bound to lose.

 It's Saturday again and it's been another week. The second impeachment of ex-President Donald Trump dominated both the news and the News. Really, apart from Mississippi State Bill 2765, that's pretty much all I wrote about Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

 And it all ended this afternoon like a fart in a hurricane with a vote of 57-43 to acquit. Off the top of my head - and I'm too lazy to look - I don't know if the two-thirds rule that could be affected by getting rid of the filibuster applies here, but it does seem kind of dumb that Trump got away despite the most bipartisan vote to convict in history.

 We'll look more at it tomorrow after it's had a day to marinate both in the public and in my own head. No one's really surprised that Trump was acquitted, not really. The number of GOP who voted to convict is a bit of a surprise and it's something to ponder just what all this suggests for the future of the Republican Party. But, as I said, that's a discussion for a later time. If I remember, of course.

 I do believe Seasonal Affective Disorder has sat on my head. The last couple of days has been a struggle to do much more than go back to sleep. It's a weird feeling. Not depressed or gloomy so much, maybe a bit melancholic and wistful. Part of it or, perhaps, most of it is due to the weather. It's cold and grey, and will probably get down in the twenties tonight. Perfect weather for staying and contemplating your navel.

 Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. It probably comes as no surprise that I've never had much use for that particular holiday. I've had two different romantic partners tell me I am a man without romance in his soul, and who am I to argue. If my partner put it on a pedestal, I'd do a dinner or at least a card, but if she didn't I barely noticed. I've always wondered, though, if people who weren't making money off it actually liked the holiday like they do Halloween or even St. Patrick's Day.

 But I've spoken a number of times about my current bewilderment about my romantic history, or lack thereof, so enough of that. Frankly, it's drifted out of my mind and I have no desire to stoke that flame. I finished the second book in Wallace Henry's Shock series, Blood Shock. Apparently, there's more to it, and if there's a problem with it at all is I don't really think it needs to be a series. As I said, the rhythm is weird to me and I believe it's because it strikes me as a bit unnecessarily padded to stretch it out.

 In any event, the next book isn't available so to hell with that. If I still remember when it comes out, I'll worry about it then as there have been enough twists to make me wonder what happens next. I'm not sure where to go next. I have The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin on deck and I need to make sure I'm in the right frame of mind. Her books are heavy and ask a lot of the reader. The difference between that and, say, Blood Shock is the difference between a steak dinner and a bag of popcorn. Both are enjoyable, but only one takes a while and sticks with you after you're done with it.

 Okay, that's word count. This is pretty insubstantial and I'm not going to pretend it isn't. I'm not very positive about the whole writing thing right now, to the point where I don't want to think about it much less write about it. So that's that. If something comes up, yadda yadda, otherwise I'm saving it for tomorrow's News.