and as i get out of the bed and slip on my underwear with its trapped urine molecules in cotton screams and other subsequent articles of clothing , and inadvertently slip into the patchwork of memories that makes up a minute , an hour , a day , a year , a decade , a series of decades ( that which provides texture to a being , a consistency , if merely through threads holding together motely memories and variegated beings as one beingthe threads coercive attempts to retain the various selves to stay sane , with seams seemingly reinforced by relative consistency of character , ideology , and perspective that is imprinted and molded by these myriad versions of self , garnered through ones years ) i do remember her vaguely ; and that feeling as though i were diminutive and diminishing , i had put on her skin to feel once again like a real man .