I wanted to hand in a fresh column this week but:

The dog ate my idea. 

Someone said it was National Nap Day.

Still recovering from babysitting three grandsons and losing a game of Go Fish to the 5-year-old.

“Me and Bobbie McGee” is lodged in my brain from the Redmonds concert. 

Still suffering from heatstroke and excess golf strokes suffered on Father’s Day.

Was robbed of two topics at gunpoint — one had to do with gun control. 

As my parish priest used to say, “It is too hot for a sermon.”

Had an urgent need to do some video gambling in Berwyn.

Realized I already wrote: “My sock drawer: a colorful overview.”

Can’t hear my thoughts over the roar of bulldozers.

My fingertips are sunburned from not wearing sunblock at the Forest Park Aquatic Center.

Still hungover from celebrating my Illinois Press Award.

Having a midlife crisis in which I suddenly hate words.

Too busy reading books a bored friend is sending me. Hope his broken leg heals soon.

Have a rush interview in Blue Island and also plan to take in the sights.

Suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome after writing the preview section for No Gloves Tournament.

Still binge-watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Paralyzed with shame over asking my kids to buy me Cubs tickets. 

My analyst has warned me to leave some thoughts unexpressed. 

Incapacitated by bad hair day. 

Artificial Intelligence app not usable to write column. Human intelligence also not working.

Busy training for all-out sprint in the Casket Races.

Brain being resurfaced as part of Wilcox Avenue paving project — currently in “Fresh Oil” stage.

Distracted by the radio playing one great song after another — oh wait, that’s Alexa. 

I’m not afraid to arouse my publisher’s suspicions by calling in sick on a Monday.

I’m going back to school to study meteorology — promises high-paying career for being right half the time.  

Busy trying on belt from Father’s Day — promised kids to stop letting my pants hang below the waist. 

Decided to make English my second language. 

Spent most of my waking hours deleting e-mails and erasing text messages.

Trying not to lower Review’s journalistic standards by writing self-serving malarkey.

John Rice is a columnist/novelist who has seen his family thrive in Forest Park. He has published two books set in the village: The Ghost of Cleopatra and The Doll with the Sad Face.