"Whaddaya doing?" an innocent enough inquiry, usually.

Unless, of course you aren't doing anything. 

Which, in turn, sets off a wild mind scramble, a frantic attempt to come up with a compelling, interesting, involving, mind expanding activity, to talk about.

"Nothing much," you sheepishly reply.

This is why caller I.D. was invented. It's pretty easy to avoid the dilemma. 

Unless, of course, it is a number with an 888 preface, immediately identifying the caller as someone soliciting something, ignoring the don't call me ever ever ever edict you signed up for, and allowing you to spend a few minutes in a tirade, berating them for this breach.

Giving you, clearly, something to do.

If you flipped on the television, saw that there was a 24 hour marathon of Law and Order episodes, you'd settle in, hunker down, and see that you were able to recite, with precision and accuracy, every line ever uttered by Jack McCoy. The possibility of "whaddaya doing" now can become  "I am reciting speeches that I have committed to memory." I carefully select friends who fall into the "don't ask, don't tell" group, so I needn't expand on that statement.

Netflicks are dicey. They are premeditated sluggishness. You feel compelled to watch them. You think you should be doing something more substantitive, but there they are, calling you. I suppose, while watching one, you could be organizing the other ones you have received by genre, star power, or director, thus giving you more to do. 

Or, you can visualize all the things you would do if you were so motivated. You see, if wishing makes it so, then you have accomplished an inordinate amount. You'd be totally exhausted by all that you had done.

Good. Go take a nap, you deserve it.