NOVEMBER 22—TUESDAY: The reflexes have softened and diffused. The eyes no longer have it, at least not without reading glasses. The musculature, that lean, taut, youthful body I misused so well, has retired to Memory Lane. What's left is the "essence," not the original. And we all know that "essence" in this age of zipless sex and eternal youth, does not pay the rent.

Is this the bottom line of the aging process? Is this what I have left, a premature dotage shoved down my shrieking throat? Look, I'm still a man, I still have these vital, lusty feelings. I want to reach out and touch and take and have. But when I reach out, there's nobody there. I am last year's model in this year's wrappings.