If you don't want to read sappy, emotional crap, go read one of my past entries that I find to be one of my more favorites.

At first, it was "Mandy's Room." This was where she we slept; she would clip her toenails and paint them, work on homework, call her mom, and, when I would do something -- or not do something -- that pissed her off, she would storm in here and cry. All in the comforts of "Mandy's Room."

Gawd. Nothing made me feel like worse shit than hearing the girl cry because I didn't clean off the counter to her specifications.

Then, after one of those nights where she came home at 5am drunker than anyone I had ever seen, heard, or smelled -- and I was sitting on the couch part angry, but mostly worried out of my mind -- it was in "Mandy's Room" that she told me for the first time, after I helped her into bed, that she didn't want me to sleep in there any more.

That was about a month and a half before she pushed every last button I had.

And these aren't the good buttons. See... I have me a whoooole lot of good buttons to push. I knew Mandy for two years. She knew where the bad ones were, and she used every one of them against me.

She left. Jackass moved in.

He moved into "Mandy's Room." And I couldn't have been more angry about it.

"How dare you?" I would ask him silently. "How dare you move into 'Mandy's Room' like it was your own."

Dude was doomed before he even had a chance.

After Jackass moved out, I shut the door to "Mandy's Room" and didn't open it for a good two months. I finally had to open it when I got my new bed...

...that I love oh, so much. It is so delightful!

It has taken me another nearly three months to finally work up the nerve. I had to slowly slide into doing it.

I moved into "Mandy's Room."

Believe it or not, it is kind of difficult still. It's been exactly one year since I left for work with a house full of -- fond memories, yes, but -- furniture. A ten-hour shift of watching television is all it took for Mandy to leave me with absolutely nothing.

She took everything.

It was like a death. I have gone through all of the emotions over the past year that I probably would have gone through had the schoolbus that ran her over killed her.

Right now, I'm in a stage where it is time to forgive. I still get angry at times. I still wonder at times how someone could take every bit of emotional security and trust that was given to them and then use every bit of it as a weapon set to kill.

But, like I said, it is time to forgive. The chapter in my future autobiography called "Columbia" is just about to come to a close.

A year later, and I still look for her when I go to Wal-Mart or the store. I often wonder what I would do if I did see her. In the beginning, I thought a good spitting in the face would do both of us some good.

Now, I think I would stay at a distance and just watch her live her life, unaware of her observer. I could never talk to her again. That would be too much.

I think I just need to see her in a way other than the very last time I saw her. I need a better "last memory" to replace the other "last memory" I have. I think that would maybe, finally, give me a little bit of peace.

So, one year later, three hours of work finally has me residing in "Mandy's Room."

I have my bookcase in here. I brought my futon in and made it into a couch.

My God, it is unbelievably comfy in here!

My fat ass feels about dead now. My muscles already ache. And I have to be at work in four hours. Fuckin' work.

Sorry for making you sit through some of my darker moments. Tomorrow's looking to be a pretty exciting day for me. I'm sure there'll be plenty of good stories to tell.

Better than tonight's story.

I promise.