Catastrophic Decompression at 50,000 Feet

Recapping, for those innocent of this blog: Tim, my male roommate, and Squeaky, my female roommate, are now expecting their first child together. (It's actually the second child for each, but as each of their other-parents-of-the-first-child won't let either of them see their respective offspring, I guess we're consigning them to the category of "starter children" and walking away until the wee ones are self-supporting.) Both of them are my roommates only in the sense of "friends who live in the same place"; in terms of financial contributions to rent and incidental expenses, they are both woefully non-participatory by reason of joblessness. Sadly, I see no likelihood that this will change, and so I have accepted their presence as Just One Of Those Things despite their constant bickering (which invariably causes me to wordlessly pick up my belongings and retreat to my room).

Tuesday afternoon my mother called me at work. This is unusual; usually we talk in the evening. It was made more unnerving because I knew she had a doctor's appointment early that morning. Long story short: the doctor wanted her to go in ASAP--in this case, Friday morning--for an angiogram, which would then be followed immediately, if needed, by admission for an angioplasty or possibly more--up to and including open-heart surgery. Needless to say, she was scared; needless to say, so was I.

On Wednesday when I arrived home, I had several voice mail messages. All of them were from CR, all marked "URGENT". When I called him back he told me: he had lost his job. They had run out of hours to give him, they said; "cutting back" and "the economy" and all the rest of the crap they tell you, and then the real truth: "well, you only have a cell phone, and you're living in hotel rooms and with friends, so you're unreliable"--this, though he hadn't missed a single day's work, nor been late, since The Woman put him out. People suck, you know?

You would have to know CR to understand: you can take literally EVERY SINGLE THING away from him--his money, his family, his friends, his place to live, his car, his weed, his cigarettes--and he will survive, and in fact he'll fight all the harder for those things being gone. But if you take his work away from him--particularly if it's work that he's good at, work that he takes pride in--and you will unstring him completely. As long as he can earn a paycheck, he is largely all right; take that ability from him and he crumbles. When I talked to him Wednesday night, he was crumbling.

"I want to come home," he said, several times. Since he's basically the last black man in his part of the state, I don't doubt it; even before The Woman put him out, he would talk to me about how much he missed his city. He wants to be on his own; wants to be able to get an apartment for himself ("I really don't care if I've got no furniture--if it's like, a blanket and a pillow and a TV and a lamp, and I'm sleeping on the floor--as long as it's MINE and I got it for myself") ....which is good, beyond belief, as it's the first time he's ever said that. Losing the job was an even harder blow to him, I think, because for the first time he'd realized that he needed to be independent for real--no woman taking care of him, and in exchange controlling his life.

He wants to be independent, yes...but he also wants me back. I wish I could say I was entirely indifferent to that option, but...The things that went right, when he and I were together, went right very thoroughly (no, I'm NOT being all euphemistic about sex; that was always a bit of an issue, what with all the cheating and the like.) One thing about CR and I--we could TALK. I mean, we were like the People Who Wouldn't Shut Up. Movies, TV, the news, music, politics....one of the things I missed most about him was our conversation. Fortunately we can talk even if we're not sleeping together--an ideal balance, if ever there was one.

But before any of that can even be considered, he needs a job, money, an apartment, a place to live til he gets the apartment (and my place is right out, since he and Tim would shred each other to bits at first sight, like angry wildcats.) I'm gathering information for him but that's really all that I can do.

As you can tell, between the Bicker Twins, CR and his catastrophic decompensation, and Mom--well, let's just say I didn't sleep much this past week. I still have no adequate response for the first two, but at least Mom is okay; her angiogram came back with no blockage whatsoever, and there was much happiness and wOOt-ing on my part. She may be sneaking up on eighty years old, but we've been getting along fairly well lately, and I'd like to keep her around for a while.

Meanwhile: if any of you Chicagoans have connections to any sort of emergency transitional housing; jobs for people with felony convictions in their past, even if it's over fifteen years ago; basically, anything I can access to help this guy (I've already poked around at work, and gotten a few names and phone numbers)...any and all help would be GREATLY appreciated.