Two evenings of persistent drinking and I am crippled, limping from room to room, smelling of stale maleness. I am eager to have Jesus welcome me back into the fold with open arms. He is apparently standing at the door, knocking, though I did not explicitly invite him over. He had better not get any blood on my door. Maybe not Jesus, but somebody that loves me and wants to keep me far from old demon alcohol. Drink has kept me from the gym and a bike ride today, having completely reduced my heroic immunity from fatigue.
Are we still allowed to use the word crippled? If not, then I am temporarily differently-abled.