Nemur likes the idea. In fact, he wants me to use the recorder up to the last minute.
He feels it will add to the report if they play the most recent tape at the end of the session.
So here I am, sitting off by myself in our private section of a jet on the way to Chicago,
trying to get used to thinking aloud, and to the sound of my own voice.
I suppose the typist can get rid of all the uhm's, er's and ah's, and make it all seem natural on paper
(I can't help the paralysis that comes over me when I think hundreds of people are going to listen to the words I'm saying now).
My mind is a blank. At this point my feelings are more important than anything else.
The idea of going up in the air terrifies me.
As far as I can tell, in the days before the operation, I never really understood what planes were.
I never connected the movies and TV close- ups of planes with the things that I saw zooming overhead.
Now that we're about to take off I can think only of what might happen if we crash.
A cold feeling, and the thought that I don't want to die.
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