(Or: Productivity Has Successfully Prevented Another Dangerous Outbreak of Pleasure) You sat down. That was the entire crime. 3:17 on a Wednesday afternoon. The laundry was mostly done. The kitchen was clean enough, assuming nobody opened the cupboard where the plastic containers were conducting an unsupervised architectural experiment. You’d answered emails, paid two bills, made lunch, cleaned up lunch, remembered a birthday, rescheduled an appointment, and listened to a friend’s fourteen-minute voice message about a man who’s been emotionally unavailable since approximately the invention of electricity. And now you were sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee. Doing nothing. For eleven seconds, it was glorious. The warmth of…