I've come to the conclusion that I'm a packrat. Sure, there are dudes that are worse than I am, like my Project Car CFO (Chief Food Officer) Will "Homer" Law. But I'm still pretty bad. In my parents' garage, I have piles and piles of old car parts (trust me, they're pissed about it). If you're missing something on your car, you can probably find it here, whether it's exhausts, tires, headers, cams, intercooler pipes, or some type of electronics. Now, check my office: papers, old images, files, magazines, and more parts. Yamz hates it because he can't walk around without stepping on or knocking something over. Then, there are my cars, which have an obscene amount of junk piling up in them. Hey, you never know when you're going to need an extra sweatshirt or fifty issues of Project Car. At my condo, there is a room that's designated for junk. It was supposed to be for guests to stay in, but that changed after I left my mountain bike in there next to the spare rims, brakes, headers, and racing seats I already cluttered it up with. Now, my room could be clean if I had more storage space, but I don't. Not to mention, I have about a thousand t-shirts already stuffed into my closet with a bunch of extra car audio stuff, my racing suit and helmet, duffle bags, and presents for people that I bought ahead of time just in case I forget at the last minute. Why do I insist on hanging onto all this stuff? Because I know that one day I'll need something that I threw away, either for me or someone else, and I'll be pissed that I had it at one point and have to spend money on getting another one when it was already in my pile of junk. That's justifiable, isn't it? Probably not. It's time for me to start cleaning up.