Back in April 2001, right in the middle, votania
and I moved into the current apartment. I'm minus my actual journal from the time, but I seem to recall us moving Monday, and according to Semagic here, that was indeed the 16th, which date is forever engraved in me for... sentimental reasons.
Some days earlier, votania
had come home to discover a stray cat in her parents' house1
, and had, in the resulting fracas, gotten bitten. Her hand swelled up like a baseball, and she had needed medical attention, which included antibiotics.
She and I moved stuff that whole day, including her rather large terracotta herb planter, which was swarming with tiny ants, to which she was allergic. Though I was the one who did the grunt-work on that, we were not surprised when her upper lip started swelling up, as it was only inevitable that some of the ants would have gotten to her. She took antihistimines, but it wasn't better in the morning -- so much so, in fact, that we decided that there was no way we were doing anything other than taking her to a doctor.
I dashed into school for a moment to let Darkside know that we wouldn't be there for breakfast, and why; he handed me the latest Robert Jordan, hardback2
, that I'd wanted to read. I wound up taking votania
to the emergency room, as she was babbling and very much not connected to reality. It turned out to be the antibiotics, not the ants, causing the life-threatening allergic reaction. I was glad of the book, as I'd pretty much run out the door with my driver's license and my clothes...
Thinking back, I'm not even sure if these two incidents are connected other than by me borrowing a Robert Jordan book from him, because the "good part" thing feels much later, but...
Darkside kept tabs on my progress with the book, in the following days. "Have you gotten to the good part yet?" he kept asking me.
I looked at him like he was nuts. "There are plenty of good parts in here!" I told him. "How am I supposed to know if I've gotten to the good part you're talking about?"
"Trust me, you'll know," he told me smugly.
He kept at it, asking me, "Have you gotten to the good part yet?"
"Evidently not," I'd say.
One day at work, during an evening break, I was reading away, and it transpired that Rand al'Thor had a very interesting interview, and meanwhile, two of his closest and dearest friends and associates wandered off into the night, intent (or so I remember) on getting very, very
drunk indeed, as soon as possible. I hooted with laughter, and made a beeline for the breakroom phone. I dialled that familiar number.
"Darkside?" I said, when he picked up the phone. "Darkside? I was reading your book on break, and... I got to the good part." I couldn't hold it in, and proceeded to laugh like a Lunatic.
My dearest Maniac asked a few carefully non-spoiling questions to ascertain that my perception of "the good part" and his lined up, which they did. Satisfied, he allowed me to return to work, which I did, giggling all the way.
 We're calling it a house for courtesy's sake, because it's a very nice and large trailer.
 I learned, much afterwards, that Darkside is paranoid about his books, and doesn't ever let other people mess with them. I am suitably impressed.