I’m not a gamer. Even more than my family and friends, I am baffled by my desire to spend hours upon hours wacking wicked beasts and unfriendly men with my human warrior’s giant axe. I am a 43 year-old married mother and freelance journalist. I should be pitching story ideas and getting cuticle treatments. Yet, lately I find myself consumed with the massively multiplayer online role playing game (MMORPG) World of Warcraft (WoW). Of course there’s more to the game than killing. There’s earning, (and skinning) buying and selling. There’s cooking, eating, (slashing), drinking, reveling, fishing, leather-working, mining and magic. There’s an actual relational aspect to gameplay; there are real people behind all that chain-mail and plate armor. Often there’s camaraderie, occasionaly heroism. On a good day I’m reminded that chivalry is not dead and people are basically good. On a good day I might also kill a few dozen horde. On a bad day, I get harrassed by a 14 year-old night elf hunter who thinks he might be cool enough to hit on me and before I can put him on my “ignore” list he says something vile which leads me to think about my kid and how he wouldn’t behave that way, which means it’s still a good day.

I can’t predict how long this bug will last, or if I’ll ever make level 60 70. But, strange as it seems, I believe my unexpected foray into the netherlands of gaming (not to mention the fantasy genre) is serving as some sort of balm for this world-weary woman and her irritable nature. Yes, even my therapist agrees, WoW is good for me. Which reminds me, it’s time to log on.