Monday already? Okay, one more run before I close shop on this: vice of the week time

Anyone reading Ocean is waiting for me to admit that this topped all regrettable and reprehensible behavior last week:




But no, you are wrong!

This was an insignificant smudge on my otherwise vice-filled days. Yet, it is for this reason that this weekly feature on Ocean is about to experience its last moment of glory. For, given all that I see and read about in the larger world (let alone in my own smaller one), it is impossibly difficult to lightheartedly admit to one’s own failings on a regular basis. They cease to be humorous – they read to me like the kind of vile excesses that best be dealt with during a process of meditation and internal healing, perhaps on top of some glorious mountain peak where all truth seems within reach and noble goals are easier to set.

So here, enjoy, for one last time, a littany of vices. I'll list, for impact value, the first fifteen, in the order that they spring to mind. Andiamo:

In the last week, among other things, I had evil thoughts, I ate too much, and I failed to accomplish work goals for this week-end. I bought way too many pairs of socks, I biked dangerously, I lied to people who called about the van, I refused to read some blogs and overindulged the reading and commenting on others, I did not call my mother and did call a friend – excessively. I drank numerous lattes, I refused to support sustainable agriculture as I skipped going to the farmers market and instead, on Saturday morning, I woke someone at an ungodly hour to fret about a blog issue. I went over the speed limit, I read poorly written books and I seriously considered spending money on a warm jacket that I cannot afford – to the point of having it set aside for tomorrow, even though I know that I will not be buying it tomorrow; indeed, I will never return, ever, and the jacket will be left hanging with the name Nina on it, ready, waiting with hope and expectation, only to be picked up in a few days by the salesperson at Karen & Co. and, like an unwanted orphan, returned to the rack where the smug others will laugh at it as it droops its shoulders in shame, forced to admit to being rejected after all.