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Writing a column is never easy. At least not for me.

You people, all 1 … 2… 3… 4…. 50-some of you if my math and fingers are to be believed, have come to expect a certain level of nonsense when you pick your way through one of my columns.

We should be honest with ourselves as we all can admit that I am no Dave Barry. He is funny and witty and at the best of times, I’m probably more along the lines of exhausting.

Still, each week I have to come up with something and so I dip into a long established tradition of waiting until the last minute to begin concocting the level of nonsense you turn to each Wednesday … for some reason.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s served me fairly well in the past. I didn’t get to my solid-C average in college on skill alone. Oh no. It took many, many hours of procrastinating until the last minute, part of an overarching and keen interest of not wanting to do things I didn’t like.

My parents — both teachers — are going to be so proud of their son after this column.

I famously waited until three days before it was due to “research” and write a paper for a final one year and heroically and on very little sleep notched a hard-fought C+.

I joke, it was probably four days before and I wasn’t as bad a student as I’m painting. Easily distracted, well yes, but not all together bad. From time to time I showed I cared about subjects that weren’t really important to my chosen field of study.

I have yet to find a need to solve for X while covering a City Council meeting, though to be fair Tom Dankert often has the same look explaining something on the city’s budget that my algebra instructor had when I asked a question in his class. A kind of pained smile that spoke an un-uttered, “well, at least he’s trying.”

To be even more fair, I did get a D in college algebra because I took extra time to ask a question outside of class, which to the professor demonstrated some semblance of caring. Honestly, though, I think he just confused it for me not ever wanting to take an algebra class ever again.

All of this was a long and lengthy way of saying that like most weeks I waited until Monday to write this week’s column, but in my defense I also am recovering from a cold and only recently rose from the dead once again.

I sincerely try my best not to whine too much about having a cold and falling victim to the man cold. Go ahead, ask your partner what that means and why they are nodding and smiling while you ask.

It started off last Monday with that ever-important indicator that nothing tastes right all of a sudden and your throat begins to itch. It wasn’t a surprise. It had already been in our house, so it was only a matter of time before the plague settled in. And settle in it did, and was not at all helped by having to jump-start a car Tuesday night.

At the time, despite the somewhat warmer day compared to the arctic weekend, the wind was blowing directly into my face and as I waited for the process to work its way through, I could feel the cold symptoms expedite their impact in almost real time. By the time I drove the jump-started car around for a while and finished up some stuff at work I was thoroughly miserable.

I gulped down soup in a fairly uncivilized manner when I got home to try and take care of the shivers that refused to leave and by the time Wednesday rolled around I determined to take the day off, which I normally don’t do because I’m not that smart.

After all, there was work to do, especially during this time with our Progress and magazine needing to be put together.

I did the mature and responsible thing and wore a mask around where needed and then tried sleeping at home, which was whole-heartedly supported by the cats who look for any and all opportunities to nap.

Long story short, I’m on the mend, but failed to use my sick time to actually try to get ahead on things and so once again I’m trying to write something at the last minute and for the life of me haven’t thought of a single thing to write about.

Wait, what was I talking about again?