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For the purpose of this story, my name is Waylon Longfellow. Longfellow because it’s suggestive, and Waylon because I was born screaming and crying, as I imagine most people were from the instantaneous shock and horror of being born cold and naked all slathered in blood and fluids into this cruel and unusual world. Some people would call that gross, where as others would call that amazing or beautiful, and I was beautiful alright. I wasn’t one of those ugly sympathy-compliment babies, no, I was a big healthy beautiful drooling poop factory. The amazing part is that I have somehow survived amidst the human race for three decades without any serious injuries despite my clumsy self-destructive behavior, and overly honest trusting nature. I’ve been hit by cars, drove bicycles at full speed into trees, been thrown off heights of over ten feet and down flights of stairs with no safety mats (mostly intentionally), and in a similar manner I’ve been deceived many ways far too many times. Used, reused, and abused...
This is a story about my progressing life, and amongst other things my numerous experiences with one of the universe’s most mysterious creatures, women... That being said, this story may not make a whole lot of sense in the end, because there may never be one to it that I’ll be able to share since it will end with my undocumented death and unknown final days, possibly during a zombie apocalypse, though not very likely. Anyhow, prepare yourself.
I was, at the point I’ve delved into documenting this, my life, in a strange and unconventional way, almost thirty-two years old, at which time I was living in Toronto Ontario, working in the film and television industry. I’ve always been a fairly open minded person, I'd like to believe that everything happens for a reason, and that it’s our goal to remain positive in the face of uncertainty, to take the bad with the good for what it's worth, and to follow our heart even if it hurts to do so, and it often does because believing in anything can be hard. That said, it was an eventful time in my life, my journey into the thirties. I took leaps of faith, proved myself to myself which is by far the most important person to impress in life, oneself, and I met many people who I believed would be with me for the rest of my life. I’ve always known that I’ve been fortunate and oftentimes spoiled, and at the same time I’ve always been thankful for what I have.
Even now as I move forward with great hope and jubilation, I look back with gratitude for everything that has brought me to this moment, the good and the bad, because things could be worse, and that just wouldn’t be fun.
Please note: I am a dreamer, always have been, always will be. I have often thought that being a dreamer disconnected me from the world, that I’ve been wasting my time inside my own mind, and that may be entirely true but what would the world be today if it weren’t for people with dreams? Now, I’m not claiming to be one of those important history making dreamers; Sure, I’d love to change the world for the better and be remembered as an extraordinarily wonderful human being, who wouldn’t? When I say dreamer though, I mean it in more of a fictional fantastical way, like re-imagining situations I’ve already lived or haven’t lived at all in different ways, dreaming about the future, dreaming about the present, dreaming about the past, dreaming, dreamer, that’s me. Got it? I’ll get back to the topic of dreams soon enough to prove this point if you haven’t decided to go along with the story and take my word for it already. If the subject of dreams however does not interest you, you’ll want to stop reading this right now and save yourself the time, and myself a poor review. Thank-you kindly.
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