Aaron Perry offers:
Here in Western Australia the Indian Ocean is invitingly clear, a transparent cobalt blue that attracts surfers from around the globe. Yet I sometimes find myself paddling out into the waves among crowds of people better suited to web-surfing, channel-surfing and couch-surfing than actual — well, surfing. If today’s translation of my life’s joy means frivolous time-wasting, I would like to offer several variations. Fridge-surfing might describe one’s hanging on the refrigerator door, wondering whether to reach for the Popsicles or the Ben & Jerry’s after a Friday night spent vice-surfing at the local pub. Where one tried to drink away the anxiety of several months spent job-surfing, ten years of marriage-surfing, and the lack of community and grounding that comes from decades of life-surfing.