PAUL:	Phew, what a week.

	As some of you may have noticed, I was absent from the show last week.  
	My much publicized collapse of a couple Saturdays ago was, thankfully, 
	not as serious as it may have sounded to you when it happened.

	I was whisked off to St. Finian's Teaching Hospital here in St. John's, 
	many thanks to the soon-to-be doctors and nurses of that establishment for their help in my time of need.

	First, they thought I was suffering another alcoholic cardiomyopathy.
	
	If I'd been conscious, I could have scotched that suggestion.

	When that didn't pan out, they thought it was severe indigestion.

	They kept me overnight for observation.  They also wanted me to eat a half a 
	cup of pills, but I was having none of that.  I was going to beat this thing, 
	whatever it is,  by myself.

	I then fell asleep for 60 hours.

	When I awoke on Wednesday morning last week, I was diagnosed as suffering 
	from nervous exhaustion - the stress and strain of strikes and a near-death 
	experience going through the ice on Skin Cabin Pond and such.

	But I'm back on the go, I'm ready and raring.  Thanks for your cards.

	And what a momentous day for me to return.

	I have to admit that the lure of the Recommissioning of the bituminous-fueled 
	transmitter tower here, today, did serve as an impetus for me hoisting myself 
	out of the beanbag in harm's way of Mom's addiction to daytime tv.  I can't 
	watch that stuff, it's too much like the real world.

	Anyway ... it's a beautiful morning here on Mount Scio.  It's been fabulous 
	seeing Ari Uldmanis again, back from sunny South America.  Wonderful, too, 
	watching the bulky, sweaty, swarthy stokers feeding the furnaces that directly 
	cause my words to reach you.

	Honestly, I wish you could be here in person - as out the  smoke stack comes a 
	black puff of acclamation - we are coal-fired, we beat on, this giant nautical 
	machine, a ship against the current, borne back ceaselessly, into the past.