Starting when I was eight or so I collected "Got Milk?" ads out of magazines and taped them to my bedroom door. I don't know how many I had but they covered my faux-wood grain display entirely, and occasionally I rotated them. These spares were kept in a purple folder with the lyric sheets for my Spice Girls knock off band "Da Bombs." In junior high I moved out of my room while we repainted, removed the closet and added a skylight. Unforeseen roadblocks kept me alternating between the the office futon, and the floor when I was in trouble, for two years. During this time my bedroom door resided in the garage. Though shiny and beloved my treasure were not impervious to water and time. The vast majority were destroyed, including my prize, Elton John. At the time I felt to much had been lost to begin again. A few years later my sister stole my state quarter collection. I found the empty display in the bottom of her toy box and ran to my mother enraged. She was forced to return the cash value, and was briefly grounded, but she couldn't refund the sentimental value or my collectors spirit. Of course the coins are still circulating, but they are older, and uglier. The thing is, the value is in the collecting and not the collection, which makes the contents irreplaceable. I have not started a formal "collection" of any sort since then. My rock collection stagnates despite never being violated and I used a stamp featuring an Apatosaurus  from a collectible sheet printed in the 90's to mail my car payment the other day. Ultimately I suspect my tendency towards hoarding will always be un-concealable. If you open one of my dresser drawer you're liable to find random ornamental spoons and field guides as if by separating and ultimately losing them they will become independent artifacts. And the surfaces of my room are so covered in  fancy liquor bottles and tea cups that one might think a very dainty alcoholic resides here.