The sun is setting on third avenue, causing a bright light to bounce off the high-rise buildings and into my eyes. It's getting close to an acceptable hour for quitting time.

Every day this week, I told myself I'd update from work. I have no work to do, really — a few rejection letters written, a handful of things to print, photocopy or schedule, but nothing major. Aside from a brief visit from my boss yesterday afternoon, I've pretty much been alone here. And so I should've written.

Instead, I spent time shopping for new bedding (as part of my vow to restore feelings of good-will and warmth toward my home, an image that was shattered last month by some urban pests that I SWEAR have nothing to do with dirtiness; I am CLEAN and I CANNOT HELP IT, I LIVE IN A BIG CITY, GODDAMMIT).

Anyway. You didn't get an update and now I'm about 45 minutes from leaving the office for the last time in 2004. But I'm going to use these last few minutes of fake-working to babble on anyway, because I'd hate to have not written once in all of December.

In years past, I've treated you to lists of New Year's resolutions and other such things, but I'm not going to bother this year. My list would look something like: end debt, save money, eat more healthily. It's not very interesting to you. I'd also like to involve myself in some sort of civic activity like reading to the blind or playing with cute babies and puppies. Or maybe just buy a puppy, except I can't, so let's move on.

Instead, I'm going to do an FAQ, even though I don't have a lot of frequently asked questions. It will make me feel better.

Q: How do you like your job?

A: It's going swell. My boss isn't here a whole lot, but she says she will be "once things get settled." I have mixed feelings on whether or not I want things to ever settle; I mean, I like her, but I also like checking CNN.com five times a day to comment on ridiculous stories.

Q: I see. What exactly is it you do again?

A: I'm an editorial assistant, which is basically a glorified secretary, but sounds a whole lot sexier. I do things like schedule meetings and read book proposals and write rejection letters. The last part is my favorite activity, since so far, it has meant writing a lot of rejection letters to agents who rejected me for jobs. Just yesterday, I mailed TWO rejection letters to Asshole and Associates. It was my proudest moment of employment yet.

Q: I heard you stole a Swingline off a co-worker's desk.

A: While I cannot comment on this particular incident, I will state that the Swingline is vastly superior to, and does not jam nearly as often as the Bostich, which previously occupied a place in my cube.

Q: Hey! How come it doesn't work when I try and leave a comment?

A: Because some people do not have the maturity required to not leave off-topic (see: partylite!) or harassing (see: psycho ex!) comments. You can email me if you like though: parenthetical.org AT gmail.com. Just put in one of those "@" symbols where "AT" is; I don't like spam.

Q: Um. I'm tired of this now.

A: Yeah. Me too. Happy New Year!