Author Archives: Jaclynn Loibl

I’m feeling a little self-conscious about what I wrote and want to delete it all. It’s that impulsive, Tasmanian Devil side of me—something I need to be careful not to act on. So, as I was saying… My inability to wrap my head around taxes has led me here—to a breather from the fear thatContinue reading “Say My Name, Say My Name”

I’m really good at falling asleep during movies. It doesn’t matter if I’m at home or in the theater—I’ll find a way to drift off. And sometimes, like last night, I’m fully engaged, swinging high on the entertainment swingset with zero intention of hitting the snooze button. But still, my body gave in, and IContinue reading “The Exhausting Negotiation”

Tomorrow, I’ll be standing in a crowd of people attempting to break a Guinness World Record. The details? Doors open at 4 p.m., the official attempt is at 6 p.m., and, according to a very optimistic local news article, “a comedian and musical acts” will also attend. I can’t help but be skeptical about theContinue reading “Welcome to the Dollhouse”

My business website is down—the same one built by Liberating Solutions—and it’s sending me into powerless spirals of mistrust. A year, maybe two ago, Sid had gained my trust. His initial sales pitch sounded like care, and his vision for my site aligned with mine, even pushing me to dream bigger. But when he wasContinue reading “Protection or Prison?”

I’ve never wrestled, but I know that right before someone shoots in, grabs, and slams their opponent to the ground, there’s a moment of calculation—waiting for the exact right opening. Writing feels like that. A game of two people walking directly at each other, shifting left, then right, an awkward laugh thrown in to easeContinue reading “Eternal Sunshine of a Bottomless Fridge”

Hundreds of blue-and-white face-painted warriors charging across the battlefield, manic and fervent, white teeth flashing as they roar into the unknown. The image of Mel Gibson and his Scottish men blazing across a green field came to mind as I registered the tiny fire ants attacking my foot. Ant hills are cropping up like prairieContinue reading “The Itch of Possibility”

I smell like the campfire. My teeth still need brushing, and changing clothes is in order, but after that, I’m collapsing into bed—and having a hard, hard sleep. This is the delirious kind of tired—the Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!! swirly-head, little-white-birdies-circling kind. Reflecting now, it’s been a good, satisfying day. But at the start, the perfectionistContinue reading “We Didn’t Start the Fire”