Home for Christmas

I am reading all these old blog posts to remind myself how much I hated you and what the blood looked like and all the pain you put in me. I am trying to fortify myself. Because I am scared of what will happen when I see you, and if you smell the same (please God, let him be wearing cologne or something so I cannot smell his skin, oh, God, please don't let him smell the same), if you smell the same I will have no defense. I will crumble. I will run out all over the floor (and someone will have to sweep me up into a dust pan, strobe lights coloring the mush of me blue and green and purple). And you will see it. You will be able to tell, immediately you will know. I can't hide anything from you, you intuitive bastard.

Ohhhh, god. I'm like caffeine: I'm so excited!/I'm so scared!

I don't know if I can do this.