Welcome to Girl Meets Words (Post #1)

Welcome to my inaugural plunge into the untamed, delightfully chaotic world of blogging—a virtual space where oversharing with total strangers is not just allowed, it’s basically the dress code. Why am I here, you ask? Easy: I have far too much to say, my friends and family have demonstrated Olympic-level disinterest, and my ever-expanding army of stuffed animals and toys are absolutely useless at conversation. (Seriously, not even a head nod. Rude.) Before you judge, I swear I’m not building a plushie army for world domination—I'm a teacher! All those googly eyes, glitter glue, and suspicious quantities of pipe cleaners? Strictly classroom stockpiling. It’s not as though I’ve constructed a secret craft bunker… yet. (My apartment’s so tiny, the only thing I could bunker is my sense of dignity.) So maybe, just maybe, my words will one day reach a fellow soul in need—or at the very least, give someone a much-needed chuckle while they’re waiting for the bus on a damp, dreary Canadian afternoon. If nothing else, at least my stuffed animals finally get to see me talk to someone who might answer back!

Shania Twain’s lyrics are living rent-free in my head these days. It’s like she wrote the soundtrack to my year: “And life’s going to kick you around, then kick you again when you’re down.” If that doesn’t sum up my past twelve months or so, I don’t know what does. This year has been like a roller-coaster that never pulls into the station—complete with stomach-churning twists (and traumatic bathroom visits), sudden drops, and a seatbelt that is broken so I’m trapped. Just when I think the ride’s over and I’ve found my land legs, life’s sweaty and surprisingly super strong carnival operator shoves me back into the next car, grinning and asking, “Ready for round two? Round Three? Round Four, Etc.” No. Absolutely not. I wasn’t ready for Round 1, never mind this seemingly never-ending journey I’m on. So, I guess now it’s time for me to overshare, a little… (Be grateful you aren’t my doctor – he saw pictures. He may never want to see anything else ever again. Sorry, Doc!)

First up on this year’s grand misadventure: my job took off without so much as a postcard—straight into the murky depths of financial shortfalls. Apparently, my paycheque decided to play hide-and-seek, leaving me to seek comfort in the questionable embrace of takeout. Who knew “comfort food” could make me feel so utterly uncomfortable? Case in point: what on earth convinced me to order Indian food and a tub of ice cream at the same time? What was the secret ingredient in that food? FIRE! Or maybe murder. Let’s just say my taste buds weren’t speaking to me for days (I mean there is spicy and then there is burn and kill your taste buds HOT!), my stomach and uterus unfriended me, and Google reviewers must have been high on curry fumes to give that restaurant close to five stars. Zero. I give it a zero. If negative stars were allowed, I’d have made history. Wasn’t that why I stopped eating Indian food for a couple of years? Why did I go back? Why does anyone take back an ex? I don’t have all the answers, sorry. 🙃😳🔥

As I stumbled out of my food-induced haze, my spine decided it was time for a dramatic reappearance: “Oh hey, it’s your spine here—just popping in with a surprise “Stenosis-palooza!” This season’s hottest trend: back pain with extra attitude!” My brain is supposed to have all of the attitude and sass, not my spine. Translation: yet another round of wallet-weeping medical bills —seriously, why do vitamins need to taste like a fruit salad? Raspberry and vanilla “natural flavors”? Choose one! One is already too many, and while you’re at it, maybe drop the price a smidge (or by a lot, by heaps and oodles? A bucket and boatload?). Meanwhile, Ben and Jerry’s made an encore appearance. I was addicted, ok. Just as I was starting to feel upright again—literally and emotionally—I thought, “Okay, spring’s gone, but at least summer’s here!” And naturally, that’s when Covid decided to show up uninvited, RSVP’ing “Absolutely!” to my already disastrous party. Just as I desperately needed rest, my fridge let out a dramatic final gasp—like it was auditioning for a soap opera—and promptly died. In truth, my fridge had been screaming in pain for weeks so this shouldn’t have surprised me. Picture me desperately juggling frozen food like a sleep-deprived, undertrained Olympic athlete, only for my spine to protest with a dramatic injury report. What’s the takeaway? Sometimes, even your household appliances seem determined to join forces with life’s plot twists just to keep things interesting. Or as Shania Twain put it, “Life is gonna kick you around and then kick you again when you are down”. I have bruises that demonstrate this life truth.

So, Life Lesson #1: Don’t get your blood tested in the same place where they test for Covid (even if you are just trying to save money because you knew you would have to visit your doctor again). Suddenly, my bank balance didn’t matter as much as simply being able to breathe like a normal human being. 10 out of 10, would absolutely recommend inhaling FRESH, CLEAN AIR—preferably through both nostrils. And as for side effects, I developed a soup craving so intense it could have qualified for the national team—if competitive slurping were ever made an official sport. This broth obsession lasted for weeks. What am I going to eat when it’s actually winter? No, not ice-cream. I will cross that bridge when I get to it – in a few months. Anyhow, Thanks, Lufa Farms, for keeping me from morphing into a super-sized Ben-and-Jerry’s mascot or melting into a puddle of chocolate goo in the summer heat. And just when I thought the worst had passed, summer pulled a disappearing act, and my health issues refused to pack their bags and leave as politely as I’d hoped.

Wait, don’t leave yet, there’s more! My latest health plot twist: mild anemia. Apparently, feeling like you’re moving when you’re not (aka being dizzy at random times), incessant headaches, and marathon-level fatigue are all part of the anaemic starter pack. I’ve never interrogated Google with so many search queries in my life. Thank you, Google, for being both helpful and terrifying—like an overly enthusiastic tour guide in a haunted house. But why does every answer just spawn 10 more questions? My haunted body had given birth to baby ghosts but I was tired of being haunted. I enjoy a good mystery as much as the next person, but I’d rather binge-watch episodes of McLeod’s Daughters or Upload than play detective with my own body. Can someone please just hand me the cheat codes already and some figs? Yup, I ditched my caffeine and chocolate addictions and replaced them with an addiction to figs and coconut milk (Hey - it’s dairy free!).

Oh, and let’s not forget my poor, overworked eyeballs—turns out, staring at pages (or screens) for hours while squinting like a detective in a noir film isn’t exactly helping my situation. Apparently, I need new lenses before I start mistaking my laundry basket for the family cat. The plot twist? I don’t even own a cat. Or any pet, for that matter. Also, I don’t even have a laundry basket. Don’t open my closet door unless you want to be buried alive. Will I ever catch up on laundry? And honestly, can someone explain why we spent so much time in school calculating the area of a parallelogram, yet no one ever bothered to teach us how to spot the signs of anaemia? Priorities, people! But I’ll save that rant for another blog post—future content, stay tuned. I actually did quite well in my high school biology class and college level biology class. But I failed at applying that knowledge to myself when I needed it most. Or maybe I was asleep when we learned about anemia because even back then, maybe I was anemic? I mean, at this point, who knows?

Sometimes it feels like the universe has me pegged for Life’s Most Targeted Human, just endlessly serving up challenges when I’m already down for the count. Seriously, Life, what did I ever do to deserve this barrage? The reality check: there’s no refund policy or magic reset button for poor decisions or tough breaks. But here’s the good news—I learned that change is not only possible, it’s inevitable when you dig in and refuse to stay down. This autumn, I proved that to myself in ways that matter. So, Life, message received loud and clear.

From my days as a figure skater, through my time as a student, and now in my role as a teacher, I've learned that stumbling and setbacks are simply part of the journey. But the true measure of strength lies in how we rise after each fall. Resilience isn't just a trendy phrase for me—it's threaded through every fibre of who I am. So, universe, just give me time. I'll show you how each hard-won lesson can become a guide for others. This is only the beginning, and I promise, my stories are worth sharing.

Despite the chaos, I managed to stumble upon writers who genuinely inspire me,

online classes that make me excited to learn again (who guessed that online classes would actually spark excitement?), and drumroll please, clarity on what I actually want to do with the rest of my life. (Hint: It starts with “Hope” and ends with—you’ll have to wait for that plot twist.) Whether it’s volunteering, teaching or just scribbling my way through health crises, I’m taking my first step—mostly because, let’s be honest, writing is gloriously free!

This blog is my playground, my confessional, and, yes, sometimes my stage for dramatic interpretive dance—don’t worry, the only thing getting injured here is my dignity, and maybe your patience. As I attempt to decode a world that at least lately rarely makes sense, I’ll be sharing my (mis)adventures in writing, the lessons that come with tripping over metaphors, paintings that occasionally resemble actual objects, photography (featuring my thumb in at least 20% of shots and my squinting eyes in the other 80%. It’s genetic, ok? Please be kind.), and my ambitious journey into tranquil hobbies like beading—because nothing says “inner peace” like chasing runaway beads across the floor while my collection of stuffed animals look on in judgment. Have I lost my marbles already? That happened a long time ago, so… Well, my not-so secret talent was finding my mother’s tiny pills on the kitchen floor. Why do they make those pills so tiny anyhow? My mission? Simple: to demonstrate—both to myself and to any friendly reader who stumbles in here—that art and words can genuinely light up even the dreariest days. And if nothing else, every adventure comes with a bonus round of “Life Lessons” (thanks, Mum and Dad, for passing on the teacher gene—turns out I can’t help but search for the moral of the story in literally everything). If lessons are in short supply, at least we can find humour in my latest attempts at writing—which sometimes read more like surreal doodles on a napkin than polished prose. I mean, doodling is fun and relaxing (and helped me survive my university level courses), so why not? Stick around for unexpected sparks of creativity and those annoyingly helpful life lessons.

Slightly inspired by Girl Meets World (and heavily inspired by my own questionable life choices), welcome to Girl Meets Words! This is where I’ll show off how writing and art have helped me find sanity, joy, and the ability to laugh at my own plot twists. If I can survive the bumpy ride, so can you—so buckle up, grab your metaphorical (or literal) snack (not ice-cream, trust me – it’s not worth it and you are worth much more! Figs, go get figs! But maybe not more than 3, they are high in sugar.), and tag along. As my late mother loved to say, “If nothing else, Wendy, you keep things interesting around here.” You’ve officially been warned: boredom is simply not on my Blogging Menu. Ready to see which wonderfully weird World of Words we wander into next?

Written by Wendy on Sept. 20th 2025.

Edited and enhanced with humor by CoPilot.

PS – Wendy spent the morning she wrote this blog entry in bed, listening to music for over 3 hours. She was in pain, bored, and wanted to feel better. So, she asked CoPilot to add humor to her first blog post. She hopes you found it entertaining, it did indeed help her feel better. The next time you want to vent about something, she recommends writing a short summary, and then ask CoPilot or some other A.I. tool to “add humor” and you might just feel a little bit better too. And if you read to the end of my post, thank-you for taking the time to read this.