Between “Doing” Is Fantastic Dullness

What is this obsession with “doing?” Why must we always be “doing?” “What are you doing?” What have you been doing?” It’s as if our lives are invalidated if we are not in the act of doing something. I watch as regular, everyday folks engage in a game of soccer. And they attack it with such vigor and intent. I am envious. They seem to be doing something. Even if the final score ends up being zero to zero, they can still congratulate each other for sharing three hours together running themselves ragged back and forth the length of a soccer field, kicking and heading and yelling at each other. I wander over to the lone swing set and swing myself back and forth and higher and higher. I long for those times when I was more enthusiastic. I recall times when simply swinging on a swing brought such joy. I remember attaining the highest possible heights and then throwing myself from the swing just to see how far I could launch myself. I consider doing that now, but I don’t think it would end well. It seems that if I’m going to suffer a bone fracture, I should be “doing” something more than just swinging on a swing set. I should be downhill skiing or throwing fists in a cage or playing football. Except, oh yeah, I suck at doing all of those things. I’ve never skied in my life, I’ve never been in a fight, and the two years I played football in high school as a freshman and sophomore, I couldn’t tell my ass from my elbow. I know that because my football coach told me so every day he saw me play. Now, if I could draw a salary from staring at breasts all day, that is what I’d rather be doing. If there’s a way to make money “doing” that, please let me know.