loved to death

I am in a good mood. There are a few reasons for this, but I like to think that the main one is that right now I don't feel tired. I can't remember the last time I experienced this beautiful, beautiful feeling.

I did crash pretty early last night. But I really don't want to turn this into a sleep blog (which I feel it is currently rapidly moving towards anyway), so let's move onto the point of this post.

Recently, while doing a slight re-organisation of my bedroom, I decided to move my Snowman back into my bed. He - yes, he is most definitely a gendered individual - was one of those childhood toys I simply couldn't sleep without. He went on every holiday with me, and once I remember arriving at a campsite and unpacking my bag to realise that he wasn't there. I can still remember the panic rising in my throat as the realisation hit me. I had forgotten him at home.

A few years later, I started to notice that my poor Snowman was beginning to look a little under the weather. His orange nose had rubbed off and as I cuddled him I could feel the substance inside as he got thinner and thinner. My little sister got her own Snowman when she was a couple of years old, and his brand-new plumpness only highlighted my Snowman's ill health.

I was literally loving him to death.

The only thought more painful than not having a Snowman to cuddle at night was him disintegrating together and not having him at all. So now Snowman received pride of place on the chair in the bay window of my bedroom. Then I got rid of the chair, and he lay on a pile of cushions instead. I grew older, I grew messier; Snowman was now another cushion on which to drape my scarves, jumpers, jeans, t-shirts, bags.

After the camping incident, I no longer took Snowman on holiday with me. As our attachment grew weaker, my sister re-discovered her own Snowman among the huge neglected chest of toys and became attached to him. He was soon looking pretty worn. When we went on a family holiday two years ago, it was her Snowman who came with us, her Snowman she forgot in the hotel room, her tears which were shed when we realised that he was oceans away. Her Snowman who was sent home by first class airmail.

For a long time, Snowman and I were on a break. But then I replaced the cushions with the chair again and I found him squashed up against the wall. He looked so forlorn. I almost felt bad. So now we are back to co-sleeping again, although he is still looking rather thin, and as you know, thin people aren't the best cuddlers, so I am being careful not to handle him too much. Still, look how cute he is:


I think it's better to love something to death than preserve it behind a museum-like glass window (or a pile of clothes, as the case may be). And I think that's why I've been sleeping so much lately.