That insatiable itch called addiction… I know that itch.

Hi, my name is Autumn…

All in unison — (Hi Autumn) 

…And I’m addicted to Mountain Dew.

Yes. You heard right. I’m addicted to Mt. Dew. It’s something I can’t control, a habit I can’t kick. The feeling of a chilled stream of perfect lemon lime delight ribboning down into the very soul of my being makes me feel so refreshed and at peace. It is the only drink that satisfies my thirst now. Water? Who needs it. I have heaven and all happiness in a can right here.

And it has come to a point where I simply cannot function without it. And, believe me… I have tried. I see what it’s doing to my health, but the longest I’ve gone without it is probably a month. If someone drinks one around me, I go into full salivation mode. I lose my mind. I neeeeeed that Mt. Dew. So. Honestly, a month is better than I could’ve dreamt of.

My heart flutters now.

Probably not a good thing.

But I tell myself that it’s so healthy for my soul… who needs a heart, right?

Sometimes I can’t climb a flight of stairs without losing my breath.

I have a happy soul though. Who needs lungs… right?

Do you see my predicament here? If I don’t have it… I get migraines. I get crabby. I get impatient and short-tempered. And my soul is not a happy soul. If I do have it, my heart and lungs and, basically, my entire physical body suffer. But, my goodness am I happy.

When it comes to my itch, I must choose between being healthy and being happy. People laugh when I tell them I’m addicted to Mt. Dew like I’m cracking a joke or something. And then I have to explain: No… this is what it actually does to me. It’s a terrible thing. And then I still think they think I’m just half serious about it.

It may not be heroine or cocaine or cigarettes or whatever. But, dealing with Mt. Dew addiction is not so easy either. Because it isn’t about the caffeine. That’s only a portion of it. That’s just a side effect. For me, it’s the taste. I’m addicted to the taste. Without it, I’m a mess going through withdrawal.

I don’t know when this turned into a rant. But I think I’m going to go pop open another can.


Mr. Darcy

One of my favorite books I read in high school was no less than Pride & Prejudice. Why? I never know the reasons behind my enjoyment for things. Usually it has something to do with simplicity. I much enjoy the simple things. I used to watch the movie at least once a week. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch it solely for Darcy.

Mr. Darcy is my absolute favorite. He makes me fall in love with him time and time again.

Why, you ask?

Because he is the perfect ice cream bar; hard on the outside, and soft on the inside. At first glance, he may seem bitter and arrogant. But once you wear down that hard outer layer, you find that he’s sweet enough to eat.

I do apologize, for I tend to have my girly habits just like every other girl.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is my girly habit I suppose.


Pre-Travel Anxiety

I’m naturally an anxious person. I used to have OCD. I probably still do, but it’s not nearly as bad anymore.

Tomorrow I start my travels to the murder capital of the world. AKA Honduras. But that’s not what worries me. I always get a little jittery about flying, mostly because it stresses me out having to go through security. I’m always afraid I’m going to be that one random feel-up. Mind you, I have Aphenphosmphobia… the fear of being touched. So, you can imagine how nervous this makes me. It’s already happened once before. And I basically cried for an hour afterwords. I hate airport security, needless to say. So, I’m not looking forward to the next couple days.

I have to start my malaria medication today. Can’t forget to do that.

Oh, and then there’s the anxiety that I’m not going to do my job well once I get there. A lot of pressure goes onto the interpreter. That’s precisely what I am. My language must be perfect. Translating something incorrectly could mean the difference between life and death when it comes to a medical mission.

Maybe I’m just over-thinking it; I have been studying Spanish for almost seven years now. But, I can’t help but be nervous about complete and total failure.

What else is new…


Ok, so I’ve been obsessed with vampires for the better part of my life now. I have no idea why. It just is. It first began with the movie The Little Vampire. I don’t know. It just caught on. I loved the mythology and the mystery and the imagination it inspired in me. I fell in love. Granted… I was like six. So I fell in love as much as a six-year-old can. And I’m not the type of person someone would expect would fall in love with the damned. Good little Christian girl from Kentucky like me? And yet, I was so intrigued by the demons of the night. As I’ve matured through the years, gotten older, endured the pop-culture Vampire phase everyone seems to be going through… It has only grown into a full-fledged obsession with all that is supernatural. Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. Demons. Angels. You name it. They’re all different sides of the same coin.

Pretty interesting looking coin, I must say.

Most of the books I own are related in some way to the supernatural and/or mythology. There is something enchanting about it for me. I can’t explain it. Even though explaining is supposed to be my forte as a writer… Enchantment is just one of those things that can’t be justified through words.

That seems pretty heavy considering I’m talking about these terrible mythological creatures that feed off of innocents with no remorse whatsoever. But, I think it’s what made me fall in love with writing. Everyone has something that never fails to inspire them. The literature of any type of mythology does that for me. It stirs something up inside me. It makes me feel like I’m somewhere else. Like what I think is reality, is just a distant nightmare, and this dream… this thought of mythological stories… this is real.

What if the natural world is just a lie?

The world we can’t see is actually what’s real. Humans? What if we’re just pawns; foot soldiers for something bigger?

I think even as a small tot, I felt the need of something more than just this. And, oddly enough… vampires helped inspire me to believe in a greater purpose. Weird… I know. I am.

And most people think I’m absolutely mad.

But all the legendary writers are… right?


For some reason, my parents don’t want me to make my own mistakes. They think their mistakes are good enough. They tell me that if I don’t learn from their mistakes, then I must be plain stupid. But the last time I checked, I wasn’t responsible for their mistakes, or anyone else’s for that matter.

Yes, I understand that parents want the best for their children. I understand that some parents even think of their children as an extension of themselves. Well. I’m sorry, but we aren’t. I am my own person, responsible for my own mistakes, and capable of making my own choices. Each individual is unique in that a mistake for one, may not be a mistake for another.

Making mistakes is a necessity of life. Mistakes define a person. If I don’t make my own mistakes, then how will I truly learn?

Now, children, I’m not saying to disregard your parents and go crazy. They will advise you and guide you, as is their job. It is your job to take that advice into consideration, and weigh out all of the outcomes. Sometimes, I listen to my parents; Sometimes I don’t. But, I always take their advise and experiences into account, and I logically apply that to my life. If I truly believe that I will have a different outcome, then I will take my own path. Most of the time this works for me, and sometimes it doesn’t. But if I don’t take the risk of making a mistake, I would never find out who I am. I would never be prepared to handle the tough things. My parents wanted me to have an easier life than they did.

But life just isn’t easy.

The best thing to do is to make all the mistakes you can now, so that the wiser you’ll be later. Life on earth is short. Make decisions. Take risks. Make mistakes. It’s a learning process.

You’re only stupid, if you keep making the same mistakes.

I Wish I Could Dance

I’ve always felt very passionate about dance. All kinds of dance. Hip hop, ballet, contemporary, jazz, etc. I used to dream about it. I couldn’t listen to music without daydreaming up a choreography to go with it.

But… I can’t actually dance. And I wish I could.

I will never forgive my mom for not sticking me in dance lessons when I was little. Of course, not everyone can afford such things. So, I can’t blame her really. We weren’t very privileged back then. I should have taught myself to dance. Now I feel like I’m too old to start. Nineteen is late. Normally people start when they’re three… or five.. or you get it. Young. Now I feel like my body is past due on trying to learn dance.

I used to do gymnastics. And that’s sort of a good foundation for dance. So, I know I have a potential. But it will most likely go unrecognized.

Maybe someday, when I’m old, I’ll take ballroom dance classes with my husband in an attempt to spice up the relationship. That’s most likely the closest I’ll get to ever fulfilling my dance potential.


Lately, I’ve found that I’m having trouble finding the words. I’m supposed to be a writer, and for some reason I just can’t. I’ve had writer’s block before, but that isn’t what this is. The ideas are there… the words just aren’t. I know what I want to say; I don’t know how to say it. The words are stuck somewhere. Caught up on other ideas long forgotten. Lost in some hidden crevice in my mind. I know I know that word. I know I do. Ugh what is that word?


I’ve forgotten. It was on the tip of my brain, and I lost it. Somewhere in the folds.

Words are supposed to be my skill. My gift. But they’re failing me now. My ideas will go unexpressed.

Until I find the words.


There’s a mattress sitting against the wall in my mom’s basement, and I questioned her about it. She told me that they haven’t gotten around to throwing it away yet.

My first thought is: Why are you throwing a mattress away? Can’t you donate it? Or something? It’s a nice mattress. So many people live without a place to sleep.

And then she told me that no one will accept a used mattress because it could have bed bugs or whatever.

Ok ok. That makes sense. But, I think the city should provide a service where you dispose of your old mattresses. They clean them, sterilize them, and make them acceptable for donation. And then mattresses won’t be wasted. People who can’t afford a bed, can have someone’s hand-me-down. Clean and safe.

As humans, I think we waste so much. Those of us who have these privileges, take them for granted and waste them. Those of us who don’t, aren’t given the opportunity to have such things. When we’re done using something, we shouldn’t just trash it. We should share it. Our trash may be someone’s treasure. I know that’s cliché, but seriously.

We need to solve this problem.

Guilty Pleasure

If you know me (which you probably don’t) then you know that I am just one of the guys. I’m that girl every dude’s girlfriend is jealous of, because I’m the best friend. And do you know why I’m his best friend? Because I look like a girl and act like a guy. I’m drama-free. I provide stimulating conversation. And I play video games. That’s beside the point. My point is that even tomboys have their guilty pleasures. And today, this guilty pleasure is “The Bachelorette.”

Before you judge me, you must understand… I don’t tolerate drama in my life. Way too high maintenance. I require the aid of reality TV to provide the drama I lack without all of the maintenance. I think that’s pretty logical. I’m not proud of it. But, what can I say? It’s meaningless entertainment. Everyone’s got that one thing that requires no brainpower, no effort. It’s my braincation. And it fills the void of drama in my life.

Makes sense… right?

I Don’t Really Know How To Do This

So, people have been telling me for a long time now that I need to start a blog. I would always respond, “Yeah ok, I will. Someday.”

Well… Today is someday. And now that the deed is done, I’m starting to think I can’t actually do this. Funny right? This is what happens to me when I try something new. I doubt myself. I tell myself I can’t do this even when I know I can. The problem is that I’m just not patient enough. I’m not patient enough to learn all the tricks. I’m not patient enough to accumulate a following. And I’m not patient enough to get on here every single day to post. I admit: I’m the most impatient person I know. It isn’t that I want instant gratification, which is what most impatient people want. No work, all results. But that’s not me at all. I can work. And results don’t inspire me.


Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.

So why am I impatient? I think it’s because I have no faith in myself. I just don’t believe enough to commit to anything. How do you fix something like that?

I can’t remember where I heard this… but you gotta fake it till you make it. If you fake it long enough, then eventually you become it. So if I just pretend to believe in myself, maybe someday I actually will. No doubt = patience enough to allow myself to succeed at something for once. All I can do is try. But… I still don’t really know how to do this.

I guess I’ll just have to figure it out.