I had my hair cut tonight. The stylist held a mirror behind my head so I could see if I liked the result . . . and that's when I saw it. It's not a bald spot -- yet -- but my hair is beginning to thin out. Of course, I knew perfectly well this was coming; the issue now is what I do about it.

I figure I probably have another five years left, give or take. Nevertheless, I once made a pact with myself that if I started visibly losing hair I'd deal with it sensibly, like Michael Stipe. But now, confronted with irrevocable evidence of incipient hair loss, I'm waffling. After all, maybe I'm being too rash. It's not that bad . . .

Damn it.