I'd be crying in my beer...

...if I liked beer enough to drink it. (And crying into one's whisky is a nasty thing; it makes it salty.)
But it hits me, every once in awhile, that I am disabled (or differently-abled, if one wants to be polite), and not liable to get all better any time soon (if ever).
But I have friends who are permanently in wheelchairs, or blind, or dead, so I can't whimper too badly.
Yet there are moments when I can remember when I was 'normal' (or what passed for it, anyway), and lament...