The ceiling is linen white

It contrasts nicely with the slightly different shade of white that I picked out for the painters this fall. Unfortunately, I've seen more than my share of it in the past two weeks, and have finally had the time to figure out which remote control clicker is in charge of what function with my TV.

Why? Back trouble, in short. The longer version has to do with too many meetings, too much flight time and the tendency of my back to want to stay on hiatus for more time than the rest of me can afford. So I'm burried in overdue work, and if I want to keep the clients happy, I'd better start cranking it out.

Then, too, there is the matter of the results of adding muscle relaxants to my psychoactive pharmacopoeia: Put me in a horizontal position, and I'll fall asleep very quickly, and not for a short period of time. I have had marathon sleeps that would do any family proud.

I'm adjusting, slowly, to the concept of a middle aged body, where all the parts don't work as well as they did originally, and no factory replacements are available. After getting my first reading glasses prescription from the eye doctor, and returning home to lie in my bed, what I wished was that I don't have to repaint the ceiling for another 10 years, not that I'll be able to see its flaws.