Cod philosophy

I remember someone me telling about a vase falling off a table in a house, in a dark and dense forest in the middle of nowhere, in a country on a distant Continent, and then presenting me with the question - how can I prove it exists? It went something like that, but my memory and recall are flawed.

This little thing, the vase smashing on the floor, with no-one to witness it, in a far-off land, reminds me of the drawer full of half remembered but more often forgotten items of lingerie, on top of which lie, odd socks, opaque tights, a stocking (a stocking!?) a couple of camisoles. Things that harp back to a life less complicated, and hidden in the darkness of the drawer in the tall boy.

These things cease to exist in my mind, the drawer remains unopened. No one knows about them, even I had forgotten. Until today.

I almost feel sorry for these poor old remnants of a life past.
Need to make them into life present.
Chuck out the too old, too grey, too small, too single, and restore to life the treasure hidden until now.

Bedroom almost complete.

Finally, I know that maybe I should record all this photographically, but I do feel ashamed. I also realise that without the evidence, I may retreat back to my old ways.
Kind of like a slimmer has a photo of their former selves on the fridge, as a deterrent.