Life in a box

I'm off early this morning with Adam, son of my friend Alan, to sort out the last of my East Coast storage locker. (As opposed to my West Coast locker, which I'll get to with my father in a few months.)
I spent a few days earlier this month moving over the contents of my existing locker (a 5x15 space) into my new locker (a 10x15 space), in anticipation of the day when my California crap shows up.
Chris, long-suffering though she is, could barely contain herself while helping me ("What's this? Why do you have this? You have so much useless shit..."), so it's easier to use my friends (Derrick did a yeoman job, hauling immense amounts of heavy stuff so I didn't have to injure myself doing it) and get a different line of inquiry ("What's this? How does it work? It's extremely cool that you have so much interesting stuff...") while doing so.
I do have way too much shit, and I've paid way too much money over the years storing it. But it's my shit, thank you very much, and I enjoy knowing it's around.
Someday, of course, the plan is to have enough house to contain all my shit indoors where I can get at it.
That'll be the day. (John Wayne, in case you didn't recognize the line.)