This PMS Poem Monday, I want you to share in the discomfort, so I am going to share a little Walt Whitman with you.
I know people like Whitman.
I don't know any of those people, but I know they must exist.
I even took a Walt Whitman class in college, back when I had a brain. I didn't get him then, and I still don't get him.
And I don't know if I really want to, to be honest.
But you might. You never know.
I thought about sharing all 1,000,000 stanzas of Leaves of Grass with you, but instead I'll give you a link. Do what you want with it. But here are the best three lines in the whole thing.
Leaves of Grass
Do I contradict myself?
Very well, then, I contradict myself;
(I am large—I contain multitudes.)
All I can say is that Whitman must have been PMS-ing when he wrote this. So, try it enjoy it in the spirit with which it was written.
Or try to remember back when 90 degrees sounded pleasant, instead of what it really is -- just plain hot.
picture by Yukon White Light