Page 2 of Truck Me

I create lists for everything. It doesn’t matter what it is. If I can imagine it, I will make a list.

I create lists of things I like or don’t like. Pros and cons. Dos and don’ts. I have lists of the fantasies I dream about and lists of things that annoy me. Sometimes my lists are all the things I need to get done in a day. Those are my favorite—my to-do lists are the best. There’s something about being able to cross items off a list that makes me feel more productive than if it were never on a list to begin with.

Lists are my life.

Do I need them?

Hell yes!

And I have journals full of them.

I love them so much, I start another one without really giving it much thought.

Five things I’d rather be doing right now:

1. Sitting on a warm beach with my feet buried in the sand.

2. Drinking fancy martinis with my best friend (or fiancé if I had one of those).

3. Planning the fall wedding of my dreams (again, I need that fiancé to do that).

4. Eating chocolate pie.

5. Shopping for commercial real estate for my business venture.

“Aunt Char, what are you doing?” My ten-year-old niece, Rayne, whines with her nose still buried in my tablet. “You’re supposed to be watching this movie with me.”

“Sorry. I had to write this down before I lost it.” I close my journal and lean in close to my niece. “What did I miss?”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t really care, anyway.” She huffs.

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and squeeze her close. She’s so much like my younger sister in both looks and attitude. If my sister were still alive, I imagine their personalities would clash, and they’d fight like cats and dogs all the time.

When she insisted on watching Barbie movies, I was a little surprised. They seem juvenile for a kid her age and not her style. She’s kind of a tomboy. She prefers playing outside and getting dirty over doing her hair or learning about makeup.

But she insisted we could bond over them like they’d somehow make us closer. I think she sees me as a real-life Barbie. Not so sure how I feel about that.

“I do care. I’m just distracted. Today hasn’t gone like I’d planned.”

That’s an understatement. I should be on my computer looking for jobs. Not that there are a lot of desirable options for a master hair stylist with references from Chicago’s rich and famous and even a few Hollywood stars. No one in this small town cares whose hair I styled or for what event.

Until three weeks ago, I had my dream job and was working my way to opening my own salon. I was one of the most highly sought after stylists in the city. Hollywood actors would seek me out when they were in the area. I worked hard for my success. I sacrificed time with my family, my personal life, and never ever vacationed, just to have it all ripped out from under me after one night of public humiliation.

Now I’ve moved back to the one place I swore I’d never return to. My hometown of Beaver, in southern Ohio. It’s as backwoods and country as country gets.

Nothing like the luxuries I’d grown accustomed to in Chicago.

Things I miss about my Chicago life:

1. My amazing, high-profile job.

2. My posh apartment.

3. My best friend, Sierra.

4. High-fashion.

5. Designer shoes.

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