Chores? Nay, QUESTS

I’ve become more than a little bit obsessed with HabitRPG. So much so that adding a To Do to write a blog means that I am here, writing it. Is that meta? I don’t know. There’s something about things that are meta that make me as irritable as hipsters chattering in my favorite coffee house. Probably because they both leave me feeling like I’m fourteen again and a little slow on the uptake (I was too busy worrying about what my mother made me wear that day and hoping I didn’t have food caught in my braces).

Remind me to tell you the story about the time in our sex education class when we all had to swish and spit into Dixie cups*.

Like most writers I know, I am an extremely skillful time waster. And like most writers I know, I lament this fact even as I’m collecting images of period gowns for an inspirational Pinboard on my latest project, perfecting my cold brew for the smoothest cup of iced coffee to accompany my morning writing, or “networking” on Twitter by fangirling about Doctor Who and retweeting Feminist Hulk. So anytime I’ve been able to incentivise getting shit done, especially when it comes to writing, I do it. It used to be a solid hour of writing meant a little gaming, but now that I have a baby who monopolizes most of my higher brain functions when she’s awake and contributes an alarming amount to the dishes and laundry, there is no time for games. Which is why my achievement whoring heart loves HabitRPG so very much. I can collect experience points and gold for outlining a chapter? Washing a load of diapers? Writing a blog post? DONE.

But in all seriousness, it’s really, really cool, and sincerely helpful in prioritizing exactly how you’re going to waste time, if you must waste it, and how you’re going to be productive. Sword-wielding, armor-wearing, wolfhound at your heels productive.

*Our gym teacher dumped everything into a glass pitcher so everyone could see what our water and saliva looked like all mixed up together, which is, I suppose, exactly what it would have been like if we’d all slept with the same undeserving eighth grade boy? A real gem of a girl pointed out the floaters and informed everyone of how they must’ve been mine, even though I brushed every day after lunch. 

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