Last month, I wrote about my decluttering mood. I'm still fiercely pruning the knicks and knacks, but I fear I've gone too far, for I seem to have tossed something I am now in desperate need of-something to write about.

Those of you who know me know I'm rarely bereft of subject matter, fodder for my rants, both written and spoken aloud, but I seem to have hit an impasse. Perhaps, hidden between an old book on Crowded House and a microwave cookbook, my old kit bag full of topics ranging far and wide has made its way to a new home, leaving me with straws to grasp at, no topics to tickle in the hope of arousing a point of view.

I've been working at this column for two weeks and…nothing. I've heard some music I liked recently; I could write about that, but that's not what this column is about. I've seen a movie or two I really liked, been watching old You Bet Your Life TV shows with Groucho Marx, and I really love those, but I'm not going to write about them here. As I said, I've been pruning the collection, but I've already written about that. Nothing like repeating yourself to draw in the crowds.

This has really been bothering me. My deadline looms, I start feeling the pressure. I want to write-I love to write!-but nothing comes. I'm finding it's really easy to type gobbledygook on these computer keyboards, but who are you going to get to make sense of it? Do you know how hard it is to get a translator on short notice?

My wife, who is far more intelligent and perceptive than I, says not to worry, it'll come. But what? What will come? I say that I have to get this column written. I've got a deadline. She says, who says you have to write? Who says you have to push yourself? Give yourself a break.

She's right, of course. I have a friend, who I haven't seen for years, who works at a desk job during the day and watches TV at night, and that's about it for his daily activity. He's happy with that. So am I, frankly, although in my life music replaces the TV part of his regiment most of the time. I don't really have to write, do I? I mean, the world isn't going to spin off its axis if I don't put fingers to keyboard, will it?

No, of course it won't. My wife is right. This isn't going to cure cancer. In the strictest sense, I don't really need to do this.

Or do I? No, my dear, I'm afraid I do. Lately, I've had a lot on my mind, but you're not going to read about any of it here. Nothing is easy for those living under this roof. But that's none of your business. (Sometimes I wish it wasn't any of my business.) But what I will say is that it has been killing my motivation. I've got all this stuff I want to do, and no oomph to push me to do it.

So, I've got to believe the oomph will come, and this writer's block will pass. There's a lot going on in the censorship arena-those wacky DJs Opie and Anthony, who got fired by Infinity for being wacky DJs are going to XM satellite radio to spin their nefarious tales at a subscriber's premium. And Howard Stern, who has spit back in the face of his ex-employer Clear Channel by getting back into some of the markets they fired him from, will surely belly up to the satellite bar when his current contract is up. I really want to write about that, because I have a lot to say about satellite radio. The words, sadly, just won't come.

Well, enough so-sad-about-me tears. Apparently, things are already looking up. I mean, I just realized that, in writing about not being able to write, I've written something and made some sort of point, however murky. So, perhaps there is hope. Pray for me, won't you, or, at least, shove some words into my mouth. It's no fun being the only temporarily-benched, opinionated motor mouth in town.

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