Fizz

I don't know how much fizz I have left because I'm not sure how much I started with. I can fly past people on stairs, but others leave me in the dust. I have good insights, but often get drowned out by younger voices. I still tackle projects with gusto, which presents an interesting conundrum. If you're stranded on an island, would you prefer a stockpile of gusto or fizz?
For some time now I sense I've been leaking spunk.Growing up, I was a spunk machine, salivating over any challenge. I took no guff. Now, not only do I take guff face to face, I accept Fed Ex parcels packed with guff. The sheer amount of guff piling up in my living space has pushed my remaining gusto to a corner of my guest room. If I didn't have a crate of chutzpa in my garage, I'd have to depend on my pitiful stash of fizz to get me through the day. I flat out ran out of gumption last week.
I hear a knock at my door. It must be my weekly supply of braggadocio. I use it to wet my lips and wash down a crustiness, which I'm certain is just the remnants of my once impressive fizz.