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APRIL 26, 1989—SYRACUSE, NEW YORK (14 MONTHS LATER)In two hours I’ll be defending my thesis and I’m a bit anxious. Okay, I’m a mess. What I don’t understand is why I’m feeling this way. In my old life, I presented to clients all the time—clients, like doctors, engineers, and other professionals. I blow out a breath and try to settle. I know this stuff inside and out, and I’ve been practicing my presentation with Monie for the last two weeks. I’m sure she’s as ready to have this thing over as I am. How many times can you listen to the same record before you say “enough?” But she’s been a trooper, and I can’t thank her enough for all her suggestions regarding body language, especially when it comes to my posture and presentation skills. I can hear her in my head as I shower: You know thi
