I put my hopes in the blinder and turn the dial to the cellular setting. When my aspirations are properly atomized I put them in the crackpot for slow cooking. Add sleepless nights, moribund social workers advice, nutmeg, and all the solidified tears from all the institutions in the world. Set crackpot to the lifetime setting. Meanwhile put the sermon on the mount in the bardo-matic food processor and hit the pulse button to produce an excellent garnish.
Of course the point is that disability is not what we first perceive it to be. Additionally it is a manufactured circumstance much like all aspects of human well being. Now Barabas was a chef.
Just to clarify things, on a personal note, our friend Leslie B is correct: I turned 56 yesterday. How one loses track of time in the industrial human subjectivity kitchen!