A Message To The People Snoring In My Room

It is 5 am and I cannot sleep. I’m in an Italian hostel in Napoli and from the corner of the dorm where I fight to sleep, a choir of snores emanate from slack-jawed maws of absolute despair. Each harmonises with the other to create a perfect, relentless tide of spirit-crushing hell. It is a living nightmare.

To the person in the furthermost corner, I apologise for including you amidst this bunch but, then again, you do snore too and it is fucking annoying. It’s unpleasant on my ears but I suppose it’s largely bearable. It pales in comparison to the pure psychological torment of your companions.

To the pair right of the corner, fuck you. I hate you. I hate you with all the hate I have to give in my lifetime.

The one on the left is like a human clock made entirely out of guttural sounds and misery. This is swiss-engineered snoring. Precise. Unfailing. Utterly relentless. Your clockwork snore is the equivalent of Chinese Water Torture – less violently awful on a per snore basis than your comrade, but still a mechanical horror of the modern age. It never stops, nor can I ever see it stopping. Rolls, position changes, weird mouth movements; all somehow fail to interrupt the tick-tock process of hate screaming out of your gaping maw of a face. You defy science. You defy sleep. You defy morality.

Like your friend to your right, your scream has an uncanny ability to penetrate even the denset of protection. Three layers of pillows (two stolen from a common room sofa during an earlier stint sitting there and contemplaing the nightmare my existence had  temporarily become) are no match for your ability to pound your way unfailingly into my ears. Even listening to music required a volume of at least three-quarters full in order to truly drown out the cacophany of hate and snores streaming out of your faces.

To the sleeper on the right, I am actually considering writing you a passive aggressive note in the morning (or rather, later in the morning) informing you of the extent your nasal violence has affected me. The man on the left is a form of calculated, machine-like evil. You are base chaos. You are nihilistic snoring. The sense of absolute hopelessness and desolation you instil in me with every haggard intake of breath is a modern wonder. It is a holocaust of respiratory action. You know the moment in The Fifth Element when Leelo discovers ‘WAR’ on the computer? That is the same kind of absolute emotional devastation you have inflicted on me for the past 3 hours. Your snoring….I…can’t even describe the pain it causes. I genuinely hate that you exist. I feel like your snores are like you speaking in tongues and when I translate it in my mind it is nothing but screams and predictions of the death of me and everything I love. I feel like nothing can be good again when you breathe. I feel like there is no point to anything.

I can’t think of anything that has made me feel so resoundingly broken and disconsolate. It’s like every time you breathe you strangle my new puppy. You roll, you move furiously throughout the night, and you ocassionally close your mouth. This is no comfort. This is equally horrifying as the anticipation of the next nightmarish sound to exit begins. It is almost inevitably proceeded by a mouth opening and a deafiningly loud swallowing. It honestly sounds like what I imagine a death rattle to sound like. That is the kind of haggard, raw, necrotic sounding throat scratching you create. Then comes the thunderous wave of snores again. Utterly random and without explanation. Your snores laugh in the face of science. They achieve volumes I deemed impossible. They are a Nazgul scream that pierces the very depths of my soul. Other snores I’ve experienced have been an irritation, yours is genuinely emotionally harrowing.

Finally, beside me, is my brother. Less apocalyptically horrifying, you nonetheless clear your throat like someone dragging their nail down the metaphorical blackboard of my soul. That clearing of crap from your tonsils is profoundly disgusting. You also snore quite badly too.

It’s now half 5. People are waking up. Seagulls are crying their own horrible cry. Light is beginning to penetrate into sleeping eyes. I’m not sleeping tonight.

Goddamn you. Goddamn every last one of you.


8 thoughts on “A Message To The People Snoring In My Room

  1. I feel your pain Hugh! I too am a very light sleeper but it must be quite horrific to be around a bunch of snorers in a hostel when you can’t get to sleep. Most hostels have the courtesy of supplying free ear plugs for customers. Did you try a pair? But with so many snoring in your room I can’t imagine this would have done much good. Next time, I’d go sleep in the communal living area! 🙂


    • If I was to go back and find out they supplied free ear plugs I’d probably vomit and cry all at once. And believe me, I tried the communal area. I must have spent an hour and a half on that sofa making a pillow fortress of solitude. The time in the communal area was in a strange way the most harrowing part of all, since I was just left in silence with my utter desolation. Trying to sleep in the room was physical torture; trying to sleep in the living room was emotional torture. It was like post-traumatic stress disorder. I felt like Colonel Kurtz, sitting in the darkness rubbing my head and mumbling “The horror, the horror” whilst Martin Sheen stabbed me with snores.


  2. Aurion says:

    Hugh , this was amazing. I love that you didn’t sugar coat anything. Not one bit. People who snore….fucking stop! Heavy breathers….STOP! I don’t think that people get that it’s rude. I just want to scream and kick them in the gut and say “Do you feel like you can breathe better now?” I just never ever want to encounter heavy breathers, heavy snorers, or messy eaters! Revolting!


  3. Obliviane says:

    Oh my fucking goodness, this is too relatable. Even now I wonder if I’m an ass for absolutely despising people who snore at night, but I see that I’m not alone on this matter. Thanks for the laugh, I love this article!


  4. Briguy says:

    I feel you so, so deeply. Thank you for writing this, I read it as I lay awake once again at the hands of those snoring and I’m baffled that they cannot somehow wake themselves up–it sounds like someone pretending to make the loudest and most disgusting snoring sounds they can. I am extremely easy to get along with, but the absolute and quiet fury that fills me when I’m in a room on strangers all snoring away is unparalleled… sleeping in hostels for the past year traveling SE Asia -> New Zealand and this sleeplessness has to be the greatest annoyance


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