So I was at work the other day . . .

I have a rather . . . eccentric . . . personality. I have a loud laugh, and I'm one of those people that don't really care what anyone else has to say. I have alot of random obsessions, ranging from amazing books like the Harry Potter series to amazing plays and musicals like Seussical and Wicked.

Which is why I sang along to every song when my boss decided to play the 'Musicals' playlist on my I-pod through the rarely used speaker system. I couldn't help dancing either.

Okay, I don't know if I'd call it dancing - I can't dance, period.

It's more like a disfigured bouncing with some flailing of the arms. I tend to rock side to side as well. Needless to say, though it probably looked like I was about to die, I was enjoying myself immensely, even if I was working on floor.

Now, I love my job, but I can't stand working on floor. In my opinion, it really isn't hard for people to bring their garbage out of the theatre with them. I mean, they carried it in didn't they? So I took over the spot on podium, ripping tickets, at the very first chance, dancing and singing away.

Since it was a weekday there were only two of us on floor, me and Damon. He liked walking around, and none of the theatres were really that busy so I didn't have any qualms letting him handle it. I think he actually enjoyed it, because with me being as distracted as I am, this gave him the perfect opportunity to sneak up on me. Sometimes, though, he didn't even bother.

"Joanne! Stop dancing!" he called from down the hallway. "It looks painful."

I stopped dancing, but continued bouncing in place. I couldn't help the wide smile from streching across my face as he continued down the hallway towards me; this was going to get entertaining.

"Joanne, stop bouncing," he commanded, the joke in his tone made me bounce a little faster. I could practically hear his brown eyes lighting up, as they crinkled around the edges in his characteristic smile.

I couldn't keep the giggle from jumping out of my mouth as he came up to me.

"Joanne, stop laughing," he said, maintaining all seriousness. "Calm down, come on."

I didn't trust myself to open my mouth, so I just continued bouncing , giggling uncontrollably.

"Jo, you're starting to scare people," he laughed. "Goosefraba."

That did it.

It might have been the fact that I was quite obviously hyper, but that word was just so out there! Not only did it totally suprise me, but it just sounded funny. It's flat out weird to say. Try it, if you haven't already. My head fell forward onto the podium and I was suddenly shaking with silent laughter.

"Woah, goosefraba, I didn't mean to kill you," he said. "Jo, come on. Stop it!"

"Damon! What did you do to her?" asked Kyle from behind the counter across the lobby.

"I just told her to stop laughing," Damon replied, holding his hands up in the universal 'I-didn't-do-it' gesture as he took a step away from the podium.

I managed to take a deep breath, looking up from the podium. Which turned out to be a huge mistake because all I saw was the expression of suprised hilarity on Damon's face - I only laughed harder. I couldn't hold it in, and the shaking motion of laughing restricted my respiatory abilities. In other words, I coudn't breathe.

"Jo! Seriously, don't die!" Damon said laughing to himself as tears began to collect in the corners of my eyes. "Dude, I made her cry!"

The beads of salty water slowly overflowed my eyes, trickling down my cheeks. I was on the floor, laughing so hard I was crying and unable to breathe - so naturally, I start coughing too, because I'm not already making a complete idiot of myself.

"Um . . . is she okay?" asked a person I have never seen before in my life, a poor soul who only needed their ticket ripped.

Damon laughed as he took the tickets they were holding out, "Yeah, we think so. You're going to be in theatre two, it's the second one on your right."

"Thank you," the guest said. "You guys must have WAY too much fun here."

"Well, she does," Damon said looking down at my still shaking form. "I hope you guys have as good of a night as she's having," he continued with a chuckle.

"I don't know if I want to," the guest replied with a laugh of their own before continuing to their theatre.

This whole exchange just made me laugh, if at all possible, even harder.

"Goosefraba, Jo," Damon muttered over his shoulder as another guest came up to the podium.

You would have thought that he would have realized by now that that word does absolutely nothing to calm me down - oh well. This guest cut right to the chase.

"Wow - she really enjoys her work, doesn't she?" he asked.

Damon took his tickets, and replied, "Yeah, we're working on that. You'll be in theatre four, the last one on your right."

The guest laughed and went down the hall. I forced myself to take a deep breath.

"She's breathing again you guys," Damon said to Kyle and Travers in the stand.

I gasped for oxygen again, wiping the tears from under my eyes and on my cheeks, "I haven't laughed that hard in a long time!" I exclaimed.

"If you laughed that hard every day you'd need a breathing machine," Damon said, smiling.

I stood up, "It's not my fault you're just hilarious."

His brown eyes met mine, and I lost my breath all over again, "It's like a gift," he said, holding his hands up like he was the most important person in the world, "It's like I can't control it."

And people wonder why I love my job.

Four Alarm Fire

I lay on the floor, pressing my body against the soft carpet, trying to make myself as low as possible. I didn’t dare open my eyes, the last thing I would see was a bright light and then there would be pain and darkness – permanent darkness. I couldn’t make myself take the deep breath I needed to move because the last thing I would taste was fire. My house was burning, and I was being roasted inside. All I was able to do was draw in one last wavering breath, before letting my face fall into the carpet.

All hope was gone.
Then I felt it – there was someone there, watching me. Wishing he could help, lend his expertise in some way. I could feel the sorrowful longing wash over the room. He had the ringing desire to reach his hand out and help me, he wanted to save me. His presence seemed to quench the flames, making them smaller and less threatening. Somehow I found the strength to take the deep breath I needed to stand. Keeping my head low, I reached to my left, letting my hand rest on the bookshelf, the reason I had come back into this godforsaken fire.
One more breath, and I lifted the personalized chest containing the seven most important things in my life – their pages containing the story of people I had never met, but was closer to than anyone person I could name. I took a step forward and almost lost it all – I stumbled, almost dropping everything I held dear, including my own life, into the flames.
Something caught me.
It wasn’t a hand, or a physical person, because I looked and no one was there. I closed my eyes, and felt that same presence – he was still watching. He knew my pain, he had seen it a million times before, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. Clutching the chest to my body, I ran, through the door of my room and up the stairs. I somehow had the strength to keep going, amid the falling timbers and enflamed walls that had once been my home.
I forced my way through the front door, keeping my treasures close. That first breath of the cool winter’s air was heaven in my lungs. It was a renewal of life, a second chance. Almost desperately, I looked around – wanting to declare my eternal thanks and life’s debt to whomever had had the courage to save me.
There was no one there.

Fantasy? Or not?

Introduction

Fantasy: it's magical.

Not just because its definition usually includes spell-weavers and far off lands inhabited by mystical creatures. It's the one word that can mean whatever you want it to. It is one word outof millions that is completely personal to everyone who reads it - speaks it - writes it. It enables anyone to experience their innermost desires. All you need to be able to master the power of this seemingly plain and simple word are the right ingredients: a gallon of dreams, a pinch or two of imagination (depending on how thick your dreams are), a pound of hope, and, for the best results, the will to act. Mixing allof these together is what led me, the simple Joanne Kathleen, to this blog.

This is my fantasy.

I am in charge.

I make the calls.

I have the power.