Insidious: Characterized by treachery or slyness; crafty; wily; more dangerous than seems evident.
Today my alcoholism is looking for a foothold. It doesn't care that much about a big victory right away. It wants to start the process. I'm a big piece of granite and my alcoholism is a tiny patch of green moss hiding in a cold, dark, damp crevice, out of sight. I'm a pretty tough rock and I laugh at the insignificant moss. Each day, imperceptible to me, it grows just a little bit bigger. Then it catches a drifting seed which takes root. The seed grows into a tree, which one day splits me in two. "How the hell did that happen?" I think. "I sure didn't see that coming."
When I got to AA the fog machine was at full capacity. I couldn't see two inches in front of my face. I got sober and blew all the fog away with some big turbo recovery exhaust fans. But my alcoholism keeps blowing little puffs of fog back into the room, hoping I won't notice. It puffs at night or when I'm distracted. It never stops puffing. Every day I fan the fog away. Every day my alcoholism tries again. It never quits. It is inexhaustible.
Not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
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