My keychain is rapidly expanding, as today I picked up the keys for my new apartment as well as the key to the room in which we'll be building the driving simulator for our project.

I've taken up the habit of packing stuff whenever I have a free moment in my current apartment, although at the moment I've run out of boxes, so that habit is on hold.

The first box I packed was my "knick-knacks" box. People frequently give me knick-knacks as presents, because I'm difficult to buy presents for. I can't throw these things away, because they were presents. While I can't quite stack up to the useless shit quotient of my girlfriend, I still have a fairly large knick-knack collection.

So I was packing such priceless heirlooms as the small bean-bag frog my sister gave me for Christmas last year, and, yes, even the plastic water-squirting robot that you probably forgot you gave me freshman year.

Then, as I was getting another box out of the closet, I found a box half-full of knick-knacks I had never even unpacked from my last move.

This included a soft plastic fist propelled by squeezing a soft plastic tube, which was a Skeeball prize given to me three years ago by my ex-best friend's ex-girlfriend, on the day that I met her.

It occurred to me - I am saving a fairly worthless item given to me by someone whose memory is painful to someone whose memory is painful to me.

Why am I doing this again?