New Year, New Means

For those of you who aren’t following me on Twitter, I’ve got some great news to share: I received a favorable decision on my disability case.  I’ll be getting payments in a week or two.

After a decade of abject poverty, I’m looking forward to being a consumer again.  I’ve discovered Amazon’s Wish Lists and populated them with various and sundry delights.  There’s a bit of a struggle to prioritize my needs, but it’s a happy dilemma.  If I can’t afford what I want immediately, I can wait until next month. Or the one after that, or after that.

One of the biggest perks to the situation is that I will be able to resume writing.  I hear J.K. Rowling managed to write the first Harry Potter book on café napkins, but I don’t have it in me.  I need a real computer, a keyboard, printing paper, and ink.

In a week or two I can buy ink.  I’m going to wait on the computer, upgrading my phone comes first, but I can get a micro USB adapter and print the first draft of my novel from my tablet.  A $5 device will facilitate my artistic endeavors, and I can scribble on a physical copy of the book until next month.  So sweet.

There are other benefits, too.  I can get wax and wicks to make candles, I can get twine to make knotwork Rosaries, I can get St. Benedict medals in bulk and a proper pastoral sick call kit.  My ministry will grow.

I can get a car and go to writers’ conferences, or visit family, or go ghost hunting.

I can repay my mother for keeping a roof over my head and my lights running.

I can adopt a cat.

2017 will come with challenges, but I will be better equipped to handle them than I have been in a very long time.  It’s gonna be a great year.


Even duct tape couldn’t keep my shit together

Hi, my name is Adam, and I’m addicted to personas.

I joined Twitter innocently enough, looking for a way to stay informed, share my thoughts without making eye contact, and stalk James Franco.  I created my account as RevAdamRoy, because I was newly ordained and I put my title everywhere.

I soon realized that Twitter isn’t really suitable for theological debate, and that talking about the religious merits of cannabis was a good way to attract unwelcome attention. PastorPothead was born, giving me an outlet for those urges and freeing up my main account for gossip and political outrage.

When writing made the transition from ethereal pipedream to serious endeavor, I gave birth to AJRoyWrites. I had had a nasty taste of reality following an author only to discover that they weren’t the kind of person I would want to hang out with, and I wanted to build a platform where my readers wouldn’t suffer the same fate. AJ would focus on The Art, leaving the politics and profanity back with the Rev.

There’s another one, too, for liking posts beyond the pale and interaction with objectionable persons I’d rather not acknowledge. Say, the President-elect, for example.

It’s a lot to juggle, and I’m not sure the idea even has merit. I’ve seen author accounts that avoid everything outside their work, and while it’s true that they’re inoffensive, they are also boring as fuck. My future audience deserves better. They should have an opportunity to know who I am, not just what my muses are.

It’s simply too much work to maintain them all.  I don’t want to get rid of the Rev., The Bloggess just followed me. Also, Franco might miss one of his millions of followers. The Rev. has history. I’m gonna kill AJ’s account and give his name to the Rev. Expect some turbulence.

Medication Monday

I’ll be picking up my meds later today.  Well, some of them – they’re all on different schedules.

Today it’s my three happy pills.  One of them, the antidepressant, has a 3-month prescription.  Convenient as hell, a third of the cost, just stellar.  The other two are only distributed on a monthly basis, because the antianxiety med could be used recreationally.

It’s so dumb.  I’ve been taking it for nine years or so, and they still don’t trust me to be responsible with it.  Overdose on 3 months of the one, fine, but get high off of the other?  Unacceptable risk.

This will also be my first time filling my prescriptions under new insurance.  Last week I was switched from BadgerCare to Medicaid, and I’m not sure what the copay situation will be.

“But wait,” you ask, “doesn’t that mean you’ve been declared disabled?”

Yes, but by the state, not the feds, a few weeks before my hearing.  The acceptance letter even claimed that I should be receiving SSI, but I haven’t heard anything more about that, and I’m too exhausted to ask.  I should hear back from the feds in Jan/Feb.

Anywho, hooray for pills.

I have no idea what’s going on

NaNoWriMo was an unmitigated disaster.  Last year was bad, what with jury duty and all, but this year was really something else.  I mean, this election… the fuck were people thinking? Not conducive to a productive writing session.

On a more personal note, I had a disability hearing on the 22nd.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with my brain, I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, and borderline personality disorder. Those are just the ones I know of.  It makes me unable to function in a competitive work environment.

I originally filed for disability 10 years ago, but the system doesn’t really understand mental illness and the previous judges felt I was too young to “retire.” I’m hopeful that I’ll get good news in a month or two, but who knows?

Anyway, I did really poorly during this year’s writing contest.  Really, really poorly.  Like, less than four digits poorly.  Writing on the tablet is awkward, I need a keyboard and mouse to get in the groove.  And definitely to edit.  I know, I know, NaNoWriMo is supposed to be an edit-free zone, but I need to fix Book One before I make any more progress on Book Two.

I saw a program online that offered free laptops to people in dire straits, but I couldn’t bring myself to fill out the request.  What happens when I get someone else’s refurbished computer only to start receiving SSDI/SSI checks the next day?  I’ll feel like an asshole for taking up resources that someone else actually needed, that’s what.

So I wait.  I browse cheap homes that my back-pay could provide a down payment for, I scan the local animal shelter for cats, and I let what little talent I have for writing atrophy while I watch our next president take a chainsaw to our society and international relations.

2017 had better be fucking amazing.

Hermitage Pt II


As some of you may be aware, my neighbors’ WiFi moved in October.  Its departure created something of a hermitage for me, separating me from the world.  The loss was mitigated by the kind loan of my former neighbor’s old smartphone, which I could use to access the Internet at locations other than my apartment.

We called it The Pink Phone, owing to the device’s raspberry-hued case.  It was certainly an upgrade to the phone I had previously been borrowing, dubbed The Dinosaur.  Faster, more storage, capable of installing Instagram, it was a blessing.  A mere two mile bike ride away lies an open WiFi connection, and the hermitage didn’t seem so bleak.  The world was not that distant.

Sadly, The Pink Phone has died.  It opened SnapChat for the last time on Tuesday afternoon, and has been unresponsive since.  It powers up, and will display a pulsing Motorola logo (which looks like Madonna’s boobs in her huge conical bra, this similarity has been confirmed), but it doesn’t boot the operating system, even with the “power button and volume down” reboot.

It’s left something of a hole in my life.  Though it lacked a data plan, the phone still provided relief from boredom in a number of ways.  There was a fish tank that didn’t require Internet access, there were a number of books on it, I could take and discard photos whenever I wished.  Wednesday I found myself picking it up for one purpose after another, only to set it down in disappointment.  I placed it in a drawer, in hopes that in a week or two it will forget that it doesn’t work, yet my eyes still wandered the coffee table on Thursday, hunting for the phone and its many diversions.

As this post proves, all is not lost.  I can still access the Internet from the library computers for three half-hour periods a day.  But no more SnapChat.  I can like and comment on others’ IG posts, but can post nothing of my own (and Lord only knows what’s going on in my DMs).  I can log into the Twitter accounts with memorable passwords, but there are a few personas that are as good as dead.  Facebook is an abomination and passes unmourned.

There’s hope.  My former neighbor will be able to upgrade their phone in April, and it seems likely that I will enjoy a situation not unlike the one I just lost.  I can return to former levels of online activity in time.

Until then, remember me fondly, and post #FrancoFriday stuff on my behalf.

NaNoWriMo jitters

I promised myself the outline for part two would wait until my birthday, but now that it’s come and gone, I have to confess I’m tempted to be a NaNoRebel and write something other than a novel this November. If I attacked, say, a Rule of St. Bennyish project with similar fanaticism, it might more directly serve my purpose.
However, fiction sells, and I’m not really charismatic enough to be an effective mendicant. I hope I make up my mind soon.

Rev. Walter Scott is a pompous blowhard


I was reading this book, a series of lectures available on Google Play, but I have to confess that I couldn’t finish it. The guy is simply to proud of himself. He rails against the Unitarians for “torturing the Word of God to suit their own hypotheses” when it comes to their denial of demons, but immediately follows it by doing the exact same thing when he denies witchcraft, oracles, and any possession that took place after the last Apostle died.
Fallen angels strive to destroy the natural order, but the Delphi oracles were too chaotic to be Satan’s work. Man shares in the divine nature, but the witch of Endor and the Egyptian magicians Moses faced were charlatans. Demons are permitted to torment us, but God stopped possessions after a while, for no clear purpose. The author’s logic is frozen and flawed.
Two more things: 1) you can’t refer to “the facts” without presenting what those facts are. 2) He has an annoying habit of saying “important, I almost said crucial,” or “tiring, I almost said exhausting,” and so on. One “I almost said” is cute, dozens are just him trying to convince us how clever he is by dragging us through his internal editing process. It’s lame.