I never officially announced it, besides posting the image on the sidebar, but at the last possible moment in October, I joined National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo). I committed myself to post once a day, every day, during November 2006.

I think my hesitance in publicly declaring my adherence was grounded in part by the fact that I find it sometimes hard to post every month. Lo, I say unto you, though–Lo, indeed. I just made a quick run-through and check my bad self out–I did it. I think I’d like to take a moment out of my utterly exhausted evening and make a few observations:

I downright cracked my hell right up. The senate race was exciting, but secured. I helped to further your Mormonic knowledge of our customs. Man I make myself laugh.

When I started, I had a different job. At the beginning of this month, I was still with the corporation I joined nearly right off the plane when I, as a fresh-faced Mormon convert, moved to Utah three-and-a-half years ago. I may have not explained in the most cohesive manner possible (I’m most excellent at that, I tell you), but on 12 October, my managers brought me into an office in the most ridiculously ominous manner possible, and in a good-natured, honest way, they managed to tell me that they were doing away with my position in less than six months.

Harmless, yes? Yes. If handled objectively. And nicely. And with candy. And it all went well–until one of the managers spoke up and explained, slowly, that while they’d like to have kept me around, they’d “really” thought about it and come to their decision. They’d even gotten approval from several levels above. And I guess that kind of real examination revealed to them that I wasn’t worth it.

But I am. And I am really, truly–there’s no other word for it–I am really, truly grateful that throughout the entire ordeal, I never ever threw up my hands and wondered if I really wasn’t worth it. I never doubted my skill level or my worth. And while it seems somewhat feigned-self-actualizing to say, that felt really, really good.

I started a new job. It has been a Big. Deal. I’d been with the old corporation all of those three-and-a-half years. I’d held three positions, but I knew how everything worked. I knew who would be helpful. I knew who would need anti-psychotics. I knew the dance to dance. That place and those three-and-a-half years were my first full-time gig and it felt frightening and weird to be leaving it.

I started at the new job three Mondays ago. This week is my first full week. I am completely overwhelmed and I am terrified. I don’t know who the crazies are quite yet, and I don’t like making inevitable new-employee mistakes. I hate being under examination and I hate knowing that I have to prove my worth there. Again.

And that “Again” is scary. Because I thought I’d done a damn good job before.

I’ll take mine in Granny Smith, please. My Toshiba laptop crapped out over a month ago. It did a good job at stealing borrowing the Internet. Though I’d had to replace the power cord twice, the hardware wore out way before I would have thought it might (yet conveniently just out of warranty) and I was left with a functionless shell of a computer.

Many of my entries this month were written utilizing the mobile web feature of the Verizon network. I know I could have spent a lot more time, had I had a functioning computer, taking and posting pictures of my dogs in their beds. Or something. So what I’m saying is you would have been screwed either way, anyway.

The deal was just too good to miss, so on Friday, 24 November, I bought a brand new Macbook. I’ve named her Pepsi. Because I really like Diet Pepsi. She also goes by Double Cheeseburger and Red Toenail Polish.

I turned 23. All growing up, I’d look at my older friends and my mother’s cousins and I’d project that when I was older, closer to their age, I’d feel more adult myself. I thought at 13, I’d feel different. I’d know more. I’d be sage. I thought at 16, I’d be a driving, veritable repository of wisdom. Maybe 18 would bring me truth. Or 20 would bring peace.

And now I’m at 23. And I’ve reached and passed all the goals I’d set for growth and independence back then. And I want to know what good it’s done me. I still don’t know what I want for myself and I’m trying to learn what I want from others. I don’t know a lot of things. I don’t want to wish I’d been more at 23. I want to make the life filled with new jobs and computers into one filled with experiences that matter. I don’t want to set out to solve the world’s problems, but I’d settle for peace with where I’ve found myself, having forged the path myself–even if it does end up in Utah surrounded by green Jell-O and empty cups of Diet Coke. I just want to forge for the right reasons.