There's no two ways about about it, moving is a pain, it also usually gets me thinking about all the stuff Rebecca and I own.
A peculiar quirk of mine (that I reckon a lot of people share) is that I empathise with certain inanimate objects. It sounds weird, and a bit stupid, but we've just left our old couch out in our garden to be picked up by the council and most likely chucked in a skip and the thought of this faithful item that provided the best service it could being heartlessly cast aside makes me feel guilty. Generally I try and recycle and there is a charity shop nearby that takes old furniture but we're running out of time so we couldn't use them - also we had hoped we could pass it onto a friend in need, but it didn't work out. See how I try and rationalise my guilt?
What I'm thinking is that this quirk of mine, is actually an emotional reaction to a genuine issue; The strange way we find it difficult to give up unnecessary possessions (books, comics, DVDs, victorian dolls, cabbage patch kids, etc), items we don't need and probably no longer enhance our lives (the point where it's no longer about the individual items and about the 'collection' itself) but we happily get rid of important items (cookers, washing machines furniture, etc) in favour of nicer shinier ones. Important items become replaceable and less important items are like an extension of ourselves and therefore much more difficult to give up. Strange priorities.