There are things of dark, and things within the sky. There are folds of woe, and wroth of shallow eye. There are prophets that sit upon words haughty or stripped of fear. And sit they must, digesting solemn mixes of faithless harrow. They tire of life, promised full of meaning and limitless wonder. They are broken, the wanderers, lit like frozen candles flickering in the infinite chaos, striving weakly to scale and scrabble brittle scaffolds of reason.

So, I ran into a long-ass test for Aspergers, and my curiosity got the best of me, so I took a few minutes to fill it out. Your Aspie Score: 137 of 200 Your neurotypical (non-autistic) score: 65 of 200 You are very likely an Aspie Doh! Until Tomorrow

“Fidalius,” began Kartaena, sadly, “the Human Condition has an infinite capacity for suffering. A man’s ability to torture himself pales the gamut of physical or emotional pain another could mete. History is written on the backs of men and women who ignore this at their peril, societies lost to antiquity, flush with philosophers or kings suffused with their own righteous insights. Even great empires that once spanned the world and ushered a new era of inspired debate and progress lay as dust, forgotten by all.

And then there was none. The tale of Rue’s haunt of Tammond Dale is no more. It’s over, damn you, and done. The tale describing an undead lagomorph intent on rending Kyle’s soul has been concluded, and I can only hope I avoided being obvious. Now I must combine the hundreds of separate entries into one giant thing and format it as expected by publishers. I need to print, edit, and refine.

First, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who managed to come to the party on the 22nd. Richard and Bettina, you didn’t drink nearly enough, but you provided me with reading material, so all is forgiven. Ryan J, I still can’t believe you only broke two of my ITG records; it’s surreal. I’ll try to enjoy your shot glasses, since they’re the first ones I’ve ever owned (at 30, go figure).