Jahleese discovers that adventures don't have to involve leaving home.

Jahleese has a job she loves and grand plans for her future, but her mother thinks that she should be paying rent to live at home. Who's right?

Jahleese thought that college graduation would be the next step towards her own apartment. Instead, she finds herself here. This is the third article in Jahleese's series about life after college.

Lauren takes a good, hard look at why she and so many of her friends are maxed out.

Jahleese Ladson examines her decision to babysit in order to earn money while she looks for "real" work. Why should looking after a child make a thoughtful, progressive woman feel so insecure? This is Jahleese's second article in her series about life after college.

Like Young Adult Fiction? Interested in being a writer? Find inspiration and entertainment on these five blogs written by amazingly talented writers.

Jahleese Ladson reflects on her post-graduation job search. This is the first in a series of articles from Jahleese about life as a recent college grad.

New GLI camp counselor Jahleese Ladson discusses the importance of staff orientation week.

This is my desk. You have no idea the shame I feel, showing it to you.

Calling it a “desk” sends entirely the wrong message. First of all, it's only desk-like in that it is a piece of furniture with a flat top and four legs. In truth, this piece dreams of one day fulfilling its destiny as a dining room table. At present, however, it mostly functions as a holder for the motley assortment of junk that I find in my hands at any given moment in the day.

Secondly, to say that this is my desk gives the impression that I accomplish work here. And, well, that was my intention. But, I don't. Or, not regularly. Of all the places that I work - couch, bed, coffee shop, subway - I work here at the "desk" least often. There was a time when this nomadic work life pleased me. I felt so footloose, slinging my computer bag over my shoulder and heading off to catch a few minutes of work somewhere. (In those days, that was the important part: that I was going somewhere. Somewhere where no one demanded juice or dumped markers on the floor or wanted to hear Goodnight Moon for the thousandth time.)

In autumn, the leaves change color in much the same way that my hair grays – in large, startling swatches that bloom overnight. Last week, I came across a tree that was vibrant summer green, all except one large bough that popped bright yellow, as if caught with one arm stuck through the sleeve of a bright sweater.