Staying Busy

Summer is busy and not-so-busy at the same time. Or, so it seems to me. My to-do list is miles long, and yet I sit in my recliner and watch sit-coms all day long, bored out of my mind and wishing for something to do. And then I think: Wait I’m a writer. I should use this time to write. And then I argue that with “No, Autumn, you have a ton of crap to do,” at which point, I look at my to-do list, get stressed and sit back for another episode.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am lazy. Don’t get me wrong, I love to be busy; I love checking off one more item off the to-do list and feeling accomplished for the day. The problem is when I wake up and crack open a bag of mini-muffins and a can of Mountain Dew, I plop my booty down into my recliner and think… “Oh I’ll just watch one episode while I eat… then I’ll get to work.” Lo and behold, 14 episodes later… I’m still in my recliner with a plate of pizza crusts and 5 empty cans of Mountain Dew sitting on the table beside me.

Yep. This is summer.

I tell people that I wish I had a job, because then at least I would be forced to not be lazy. I’m a good worker… once I actually get started. But getting started? That’s the trick. I just keep making excuses for myself. When I started this blog, I set out to post at least once a day… but then I left the country… and had no computer. So… I got out of the habit. Now, I keep making excuses to not write, even though it’s something I love to do. I just really don’t understand myself at this point in time.

The point is… I’m trying to break my habit of not being in the habit of writing daily. Step one, check!



Getting back into the habit of writing has been a challenge, surprisingly. I don’t love it any less, but I find myself having too many things to write about. I don’t even know how to begin organizing them into coherent thoughts that make sense to outsiders. Part of me wants to share my experience in Honduras, and part of me feels like that’s too personal to share. The internet is a scary place to put personal thoughts. Although the question of what I want to write about is plaguing me, I do in fact know that I want to write at least something. Hence this pointless post. 

I feel so stressed. No matter how much I try to not care, it’s just so exhausting. The simple life was so much easier. I completely understand why Americans are so uptight and cold and overall angry in comparison to other cultures. Can we just go back to the simple life? That life where you actually have conversations with the people sitting at the dinner table, rather than those so many miles away through your handheld device. That life where you smile and greet passersby, rather than keep your eyes to the ground and ignore the existence of other humans. That life where patience and random acts of kindness exist, rather than people yelling at each other almost constantly. 

Man, I just don’t know. I think the reason I’m stressed is because I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I’m experiencing culture shock. The last time I came back from a foreign country, it took me a while to get back adjusted, but I didn’t expect that to happen every time. For some reason, I just can’t come back very easily. I’m beginning to believe I just clearly don’t belong here. I may have been born here. I may have been raised here. This may be “my culture”. But… I’m thinking I was born and raised in the wrong culture, because obviously I’m having issues. 

I’m Back

Well, my week in Honduras has come to end, and I’m back in America. It was one of the best weeks of my life, and I’m sad that it’s over. Adjusting back to the first world lifestyle has been pretty tough thus far. And, honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to the way I was before. I feel like a completely different person. I’ve learned more about God’s love this past week, than I have my whole life, and I’m so thankful to have been blessed enough to experience it.

Now that I’m back in America, I’m finding it difficult to go back to speaking English, and eating American food. My appetite is almost nonexistent now. And, it almost hurts to see so much stuff. Just stuff. Businesses, roads, highways, tall buildings, things, things, and more things. Materialism and consumerism seems so different to me now than it did before. Comfort isn’t important to me anymore. It bugs me almost.

Overall, the experience has given me a better appreciation for life, people and the beauty of this earth. I am eager to explore it even more in the years to come.


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…