Well, since my head doesn’t stop thinking even when I’d like for it to, I’ve got another story. Or at least, the first chapter of one. I’m not really sure how this one is going to work out, because I’ve had no planning for it whatsoever—it just struck me yesterday in the middle of preparing for my art exam. That being said, you’ll have to bear with me here, and chapter updates for this may not be as frequent as the ones for CAPTOR are. Anyway, I hope you’ll stick around!

The Lost Art of Doing Nothing: Introduction

Nobody ever does nothing. Truly doing “nothing” has one basic requirement, and it’s only complicated if you want it to be: you must not exist. After all, if you don’t exist, then there’s nothing you can do, right?

Even then, it could be argued that you’re doing something by not existing.

You could also be doing something by doing nothing, though. It could be directly doing “nothing”—because you’re always doing something when you’re doing nothing—or it could be affecting indirectly—because you doing nothing could have a major impact on something else that’s going on.

So you see the point that’s being made here. Doing “nothing” is an oxymoron.

Welcome to Theory of Knowledge, ladies and gentlemen.

This is the argument I am served at least once a week, without fail. For, at least once a week, I will get a call from one of my closest friends in the whole universe. (Since, really, the only place in the universe that I’ve ever set foot on—or even been remotely close to—is Earth. Which also happens to be my home planet. Shocking revelation, I know.)

Anyway, the first five words out of his mouth are always, “Hi, what are you doing?” and the first one out of mine is usually, “Nothing,” delivered in a toneless mutter and generally followed by something that I am doing. Which is when my friend’s voice changes as he becomes serious and gives me the same explanation about doing nothing that I gave you above. Except yours was not precluded by, “Jazz, we’ve been over this,” and it did not end with, “Therefore, you can’t be doing nothing because you’re sitting and talking to me. See?”

He wins. Again. He always wins, and I tell him this with a smile.

“One would think you had learned by now,” he tells me in response, amused.

“Yes, Willow,” I answer dutifully. “I will next time.” Except I won’t. If the first five minutes of our conversations ever ceased to exist, I would be lost. I think he would be, too. At least, it seems to be what we’ve silently agreed on. His seven ex-boyfriends don’t believe that—they’d rather have had more of him to themselves.

Oh, and by the way. Willow used to be gay. He wasn’t stereotypical-gay, though—he acted, looked and sounded just like someone straight would. And the key words here are “used to be,” besides. Something happened to him one day, just three months ago…and his story—and maybe this one, too—is one that can only be told in reverse.

So, what’d you think? I’d really love to hear it. :) This is going to be a multichapter fic, though I don't really know where it's going to end up at this point...