Several people expressed their disappointment recently when they opened their Saturday edition of The Robesonian and turned directly to page 4, only to be disappointed that my column was not resting in its usual place, therefore ruining the launch to their weekend.

And when I say several, I inflate by exactly several.

To be fair, I often get positive comments regarding my column, and not only from relatives who want to be remembered in my will. Last week’s effort, when I broke my own rule and ventured into the political pasture that is littered with cow pie, provoked a lot of feedback, mostly positive, but not all. By the way, when I say we have raised a lazy, entitled generation, that does not necessarily mean your child.

But neither of my sisters, who are at polar ends of the political spectrum, gave the column a like on Facebook. That convinced me that they both hated it, which is only slightly worse than if they had both loved it. The real danger here would have been if one loved it and the other hated it. It could have cost me a call on my birthday.

The problem two weeks ago is that my laptop stumbled off an end table, plunged 2 feet and the next time I booted it up, I received a message that the auto repair had failed. To make a long story short, which is not the ideal strategy for filling up this space, when confronted with a weekend without a laptop, i used my cell phone to visit Amazon, which had a new one on my front porch the next day.

By the time the old one was repaired, which meant a new hard drive, I was almost $500 poorer. But I do have a new one and a backup.

The lack of outrage at my column’s absence on July 14 did slightly erode the already shaky confidence I have in writing a weekly column, which might surprise some. I am extremely confident that my writing itself would earn an A in Mrs. Gane’s English class, and my vocabulary compares favorably with most folks of my education level, a testament to Mrs. McLaughlin and that Latin course whose value in 1972 I questioned.

The problem, which is evident to regular readers, is coming up with an interesting topic that will produce the 700 or so necessary words that will get me paid. I have not entirely exhausted what I can write about golf, cats and copperheads, UNC athletics, retirement, and the challenges of growing old, but the tread on those tires is well worn.

I know that Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David each made a fortune producing a hit sitcom that in their own words was about “nothing,” but there is a chance those guys are more talented than I am, plus that road has already been plowed.

Each week is a repeat. I begin fretting on Monday over what I will write about in that week’s column and spend the next couple of days living life in my bubble, looking for a nugget that can be mined for the purpose of tricking my readers into believing it is interesting. I need not be told that this column is hit and miss. I read it, too.

The problem comes when writing day, which is Thursday morning, arrives and I sit down with my Lenovo laptop in my recliner and I have nothing to write about. That happened about 20 minutes ago.

It is at those times that I question whether it is time to call it a wrap, but there is the matter of that $500 on my Visa card. The truth is, after a career in journalism that was shortened shy of my 63rd birthday by Covid, I need income so I do not begin burning through the retirement portfolio. The Robesonian pays me what the column is worth, so not that much, but better than nothing if only slightly.

The less time spent writing, however, the better the hourly wage. So, I keep hunting and pecking.

Word just told me I am at 696 words, sufficient to fill this space. Jerry and Larry, I hope, would be proud.

See you next week.

Unless I do not.