The three-day holiday took its toll. We fell out of the work groove. Tossed and turned all night, couldn’t fall asleep until 5 AM — we’d gotten used to sleeping until noon. During the day it was hard to get back into the swing; by nighttime we were up to speed. Good attitude. During the day we worked with “Korund.” It keeps giving us trouble — malfunctions. We asked them to investigate and let us know. Then we did a TV broadcast for Farmer’s Day.

I watched the volcano El Chichon — it’s smoking like a huge chimney, a white plume stretching 300 kilometers out to sea. Compared to it, Etna is just smoldering like a cooling stove. Headache all day. It’s better to go through the whole program in harness without slacking off. We’ve started slowly preparing the cargo ship for undocking. I’ll miss it — nice having it around. The comm operators rotated. Things got easier. Apparently here too prolonged contact with the same people is inadvisable — you tire of them, as you would of even the most talented actor or singer if you saw or heard them constantly. In short, the freshness of communication fades, monotony sets in, and fatigue with each other accumulates.

Today on comm I said I’ll fly again — though I’d like something new.

I remembered our cosmonaut group, the difficult life in it, the work, and thought about what toast I’d give after returning:

“Dear colleagues, I sincerely thank you for helping me prepare well for the flight and endure it. I’m being truly sincere. Over all these years, like a sparring partner in boxing, I’ve taken so many punches — direct, from the side, underhanded, of varying force — that I’ve learned to take them, react in time, dodge them, and ignore the pain when I fail to block. So now, thanks to you, I’m a hardened fighter. Therefore I propose a toast to our continued healthy life. I’m sure you won’t stop here and will likewise continue helping me achieve success in space and on Earth.”