Cobra
Miles Davis, baby, yeah! Here I sit, sober, on day one of my latest journey into long term sobriety. Having just fallen off a one year long wagon ride, it feels lovely to be sober again, even this early on. I know I will not be drinking tonight. My mind is at peace for the first time in days.
I have never found the root of my alcoholism. I know that it is buried deep in my heart, and branches through my bloodstream like some sentient tree: thirsty and malevolent. This thirst frightens me, and I regard it as a totally wacked-out, lunatic beast. If I do not slake it, it will become starved and disoriented. Eventually, too weak to grasp me in it's teeth, it will slumber.
I know that it will wake again, immense and greedy and raving. That's how I fell off the wagon this time! I wasn't watching it closely enough. I let my guard down. I must be broken. I must be a warrior: humble, painfully honest and ever-vigilant.
Above all, though, I must maintain my sense of humor. Without that, I'd go bonkers. Fun is vital.