My significant other snores. At first it was a gentle snore that was more endearing than annoying. Then, snow-time came along. The beautiful flakes of white sweeping the nation also brought with it colds, coughs and blocked noses. So my gentle snorer transformed into something more akin to a direct descendant of a grizzly bear.
This led to long conversations and Google research on sleep and controlled snoring, peering distastefully at earplugs and mouthguards, no-ing (him) and yes-ing (me) at throat and breathing exercises.
When I look at myself and a growling him closely however, I realise I’d rather have a grizzly bear, lean & warm, than no grizzly bear at all. The only times of the week when I dont need heaters or multiple pairs of socks is when Im with him. And while I complain to all and sundry about the snoring (or as the S.O calls it, "snore-lings") the truth is, the snoring is only so loud because he holds me so close – all night long, never letting go. A feeling, a something Ive never known, a something Im rapidly getting addicted to.
It’s easy to hooked on, painfully so. The teasing laughing conversations that follow the "babyside" nudges, the shared cigarette in a cold kitchen in that time between night and morn. Somehow our most intense and personal of conversations happen then – loves, lives, futures, pasts, presents, relationships, people and places – in that comfortable awkward position of my hand on his cheek and his head on my bare feet.
I spent most of my life laughing at my parents for their snoring issues. I always prided myself on being a quiet sleeper, even during blocked noses and painful colds. But now, snoring has become one of the most intimate parts of my life.
And in the end, who doesnt like a good old grizzly bear?