I can no longer remember the excitement I felt when I first joined.

I already know how much I have to spend for a certain return. It has become nothing more than a matter of known probabilities. I’ve even come to understand why sex with beautiful women bought with money offers no more pleasure than a hotel’s main dining room. Did I hold someone in my arms last night? I’ve already forgotten by this morning. What was it I wanted in the first place? No, I’ve known for a long time that this is how it would turn out. But I can’t get off this ride, either. Am I simply weak after all? Is this what middle age is?