Eternally oversized camo pants
The "you are wearing white underwear" white underwear I got at CVS the night I last went to the ER. (I never did get around to experimenting with my blood the way I'd anticipated. But that's another story entirely.)
White lace bra I stole out of the laundry when I lived in Canadaland and the upstairs housemate-type-neighbors had taken my laundry out of the machines to put their own in. Part spite, part practicality!
Tiny white socks with pink heel and toe accents. I don't actually remember buying this set. They're anklets.. so damn short I can feel my shoes directly against my ankle when I wear them. I hate them. But at some point, which is a complete blank to me, I bought three pairs.
I just got done bawling my fucking eyes out in that deep-heaving way that can't be suppressed. When I got home, hoping only for rest and respite and perhaps an extra long soak in my tiny tub, there was an envelope stuck under my inside door. My first name only on the envelope and clearly a cassette tape inside. From the Sensitive Artist. A Christmas tape, and a brief explanation that, "It's not an olive branch it's a tape.." I haven't even listened to it yet. Getting it, opening it, reading it.. enough to get my misery on. Maybe it's a Christmas thing. I keep reading "I still like Xmas. Maybe you don't,", and getting sob-faced all over again. I have memories of paper Christmas trees, drawn crudely in colored pencils, taped on the wall over a stack of presents. But I never hated Christmas.
Why did I bother writing what I'm wearing? Because in a way, it's also what I'm feeling.