Woke up early, at five-thirty; nerves on edge, I flinch at the slightest irritation. I come on the link wanting to read a poem — one that carries my faith that this flight would happen. I wanted to read it as my victory cry, to share the joy of what we’ve accomplished. And suddenly I hear the voice of our doctor — he tells me to be quiet today and puts on a tape recording of me reading my poems, only it was recorded on the ground. In short, he shut me up in front of everyone, and my mood is ruined. After all, I carried that poem in my heart for so long and saved it to read precisely from space. It’s clear he wanted to do something nice for me, but he didn’t have the sensitivity to understand my state, and by doing so he struck me where it’s most precious.

More than once I’ve asked him not to take initiative without clearing it with me first. After all, we have our own world up here, and one must enter it very carefully, or with permission — not barge in.

Tolya went into the cargo ship and is rummaging through the odds and ends, securing everything in its place. Not much time left; we’ll catch our breath, and our spirits will improve.

We’re in free drift. I looked out the window — the sensation is as though we’re on an airplane on takeoff.