By: M.G.
For the second time in a month, I’ve been caught snoring. While I’ve often ridiculed those who couldn’t simply control their breathing, I’ve become the brunt of derision.

The first episode of snoring wasn’t nearly shameful, but rather highly unusual. Having awakened early on a Sunday morning to exercise on an empty stomach, my energy levels depleted very quickly. I dragged myself to the kitchen area and plopped down on the couch. My sister and her family were sitting around the television, equally tired from their busy morning. Therefore, it didn’t take long before each of us nodded off into sweet slumber. My sister’s fiancée, trying desperately to watch the first half of the football game, weakly gripped the remote as his head began to tilt backwards. I chuckled and, too, soon fell asleep, curling my lanky frame onto a tiny loveseat.

What occurred over the next 30 minutes was downright perplexing. I slipped in and out of rest, hearing a feint snoring sound drifting from the side of the room opposite to me.
“Who the fuck is that?” I’d think.
Soon, the sound became overpowering. Just as I was set to go awaken the noisemaker, I realized that it was none other than me making the sound! How often do you find someone detecting their own snoring? It was so bizarre and embarrassing that I rolled off the couch and exited the room before anyone could notice.

But, wait, I don’t snore. Never has anyone been disturbed by the sounds emitted by me as I slept. Okay, well, there was the one time when I went to visit my ex-girlfriend for the weekend. She was in her living room completing a homework assignment as I lay in her bed reading some work of my own. I don’t actually recall falling asleep, but I do remember her shaking me awake in the middle of the night.
“Baby, you’re snoring.” she said.
Immediately, I assumed she was lying. I don’t snore. She must have been playing a cruel joke on me. However, the truth was that I was so exhausted that I snored like a beast. Having been cramped next to me in her tiny bed, the poor girl couldn’t get a wink of sleep with the deep snores bellowing from my lungs. Humiliated, I rolled over and tried to make a concerted effort to keep my breathing in check.

Perhaps there’s a genetic linkage to my bouts of shame. I recall the marvel that was my father’s snoring habit. While I’ve witnessed numerous older men and overweight women snore, none could parallel my old man. For a young child still exploring the myriad facets of life, snoring is both mysterious and frightening. My father worked long hours and often didn’t have the energy to stay awake very long in the evenings. While I’d be shuffling through the house, he’d be outstretched on the bed, wearing a tank top and his same pair of navy blue slacks. With his mouth agape, he’d release some of the most potent snores in local history. I’d often stand over him, amazed that a human could emit such sounds. His snores would crescendo gradually until a final, snort-like sound would jolt him from his sleep. There my frail five-year old frame would be, gazing directly into his eyes. His tongue would be so dry from the air intake that I’d always offer him a tall glass of water. My mother would always be sitting at the dining room table fiddling with a heap of bills. While I’m certain that such work wasn’t necessary, there was simply no way she could get any rest in the room with my father. The man had audibly claimed his domain. No one could enter.

Maybe snoring isn’t really that bad. My close friend, Jeff, has an even stranger habit of sleepwalking. Perhaps more bizarre is the fact that a few of these episodes involve animals such as rats and snakes. Once during our sophomore year of high school, Jeff dreamed about a horde of serpents taking over his sleeping quarters. While still fast asleep, he managed to put on each article of clothing he wore that day and walk into his parents’ room. It’s there that he began to cry out for help, asking for his father to come check out his room. When his dad flicked the light switch, Jeff realized that he was not only on his feet, but also dressed as though he was on his way to school. Surprisingly, he didn’t make a fuss about the entire ordeal, but I nearly ruptured my bladder laughing. Equally amusing was his ordeal with a raging possum that caused him to leap from his bed and run into his living room. It wasn’t until he tripped over an object in the hallway did he awaken. His wife, mind-boggled, watched the entire thing unfold.

Now that I’m nearly certain that I’m going down a path of humiliation, I’m much more conscious of where I fall asleep. The feel of my morning commute subway naps has shifted from relaxing to cautious. In case I am caught snoring, I’d like to be as far from patrons as possible. This is why I opt for the seat in the rear of the subway car and usually cover my mouth before dozing off. I’ve seen the horrible shame people have faced by being caught snoring during rush hour. The sounds have been known to nearly clear out an entire car of irritable, disgruntled workers. This will also be a relationship deterrent, as I’d hate to subject a significant other to insomnia caused by my impending snoring habit. I guess things could be worse. At least my wife won’t have to worry about me fleeing rabid animals in my sleep.