Went through the closet last night to cull the wardrobe a bit...mainly to get rid of stuff that past beaus gave me. I figure if I haven't seen most of them in (at least) three years, why keep the leftovers. It's not like any of it was anything I would ever be caught dead wearing.
What's been so striking has been looking so coldly, so clinically at what images or phantasmes were being imposed on me. I know we all do this to an extent; heck, there's a whole treatise on this phenomenon by some dead French guy. (Wasn't it called crystalization? It is a bug-in-amber sort of feeling.) Still.
Anyhow, I'm thinking of selling the lot on e-Bay or something, although that sounds kind of tawdry and unromantic. Can't see myself doing the heroine of the bodice-ripper thing by burning the bomber bras and leather pants, though. I'm too pragmatic for that, and besides, I could use the money. Flights off the continent are expensive in the summer.