Kierkegaard isn't simply mourning the tedium of an unstimulating afternoon—he's identifying something far more dangerous: the spiritual act of self-abandonment disguised as mere restlessness. When we call ourselves bored, we're often confessing a refusal to inhabit our own particular existence, to shoulder the weight of becoming who we actually are. A person scrolling endlessly through others' curated lives isn't just wasting time; they're actively fleeing the harder, lonelier work of building something from their own materials. That flight, Kierkegaard suggests, is where genuine corruption begins.