Demon Marcus, Sunday
This year was going to be different.
Yes, Sparkle was well aware that the switching of a calendar from one year to the next was really just an arbitrary marker of the continuation of the steady passage of time, and that any one grouping of around three hundred and sixty five days was more or less the same as the next, fundamentally. Something as commonplace as the passage of time from one day to the next didn't automatically wipe the slate clean and guarantee an improvement in the days ahead.
And you know what? He'd heard that fucking argument from so many people who thought they were sooooo much better than the people who were hoping for an improvement in the new year, he was pretty sure that if he heard it one more time he was going to punch something and scream. Or type at them loudly in all-caps. Sure, the simple passage of time from one year to the fucking next wasn't going to change anything. Of course it wasn't. But the New Year had been traditionally used as a symbolic starting point for people to choose to change things themselves since for-fucking-ever, and if Sparkle wanted to use today as an easy-to-refer-to marker for the change he wanted to see in himself, he was going to just go right ahead and do that, high-and-mighty haters with their heads up their asses be damned.
This year was going to be a better year. The world could throw 2016: Part Two at him, and if he had any say in the matter, he wouldn't be caught off-guard by it this time around. He'd stand up and clench his fist and yell in its stupid fucking face. Then he'd save his own damn self for a change, or remind himself that this too shall pass, or, in an unprecedented turn of events, remember that for once in his life he wasn't alone, and he'd ask somebody for help.
2016 was over, 2017 was going to be better, and Sparkle was going to kick it off by leaving a postcard that he'd photoshopped himself that morning, of Milady the Fish in his tank taking in last night's ball drop in New York, for Alluka to find on her next shift. Then maybe he'd contemplate his lesson plan, or take inventory on the winter clothes while the weather was more or less behaving itself.
Or just take a little while to breathe.
[OOC: Open! OCD-free because pfft, starting 2017 on a lazy note works just fine for me.]
Yes, Sparkle was well aware that the switching of a calendar from one year to the next was really just an arbitrary marker of the continuation of the steady passage of time, and that any one grouping of around three hundred and sixty five days was more or less the same as the next, fundamentally. Something as commonplace as the passage of time from one day to the next didn't automatically wipe the slate clean and guarantee an improvement in the days ahead.
And you know what? He'd heard that fucking argument from so many people who thought they were sooooo much better than the people who were hoping for an improvement in the new year, he was pretty sure that if he heard it one more time he was going to punch something and scream. Or type at them loudly in all-caps. Sure, the simple passage of time from one year to the fucking next wasn't going to change anything. Of course it wasn't. But the New Year had been traditionally used as a symbolic starting point for people to choose to change things themselves since for-fucking-ever, and if Sparkle wanted to use today as an easy-to-refer-to marker for the change he wanted to see in himself, he was going to just go right ahead and do that, high-and-mighty haters with their heads up their asses be damned.
This year was going to be a better year. The world could throw 2016: Part Two at him, and if he had any say in the matter, he wouldn't be caught off-guard by it this time around. He'd stand up and clench his fist and yell in its stupid fucking face. Then he'd save his own damn self for a change, or remind himself that this too shall pass, or, in an unprecedented turn of events, remember that for once in his life he wasn't alone, and he'd ask somebody for help.
2016 was over, 2017 was going to be better, and Sparkle was going to kick it off by leaving a postcard that he'd photoshopped himself that morning, of Milady the Fish in his tank taking in last night's ball drop in New York, for Alluka to find on her next shift. Then maybe he'd contemplate his lesson plan, or take inventory on the winter clothes while the weather was more or less behaving itself.
Or just take a little while to breathe.
[OOC: Open! OCD-free because pfft, starting 2017 on a lazy note works just fine for me.]