?

I woke up this morning thinking and half-wishing that I was at home in my little bed, and I didn't know why. It made me sad and confused, two feelings that are being reinforced even as I type and make French keyboard-related errors on my own American laptop. What's going on?

I guess it's a timely question to ask myself, as the French seem to be going through a similar crisis of national identity. I've been here for scarcely two months, and I already feel some gurgling and bubbling going on under the surface of my placid brain lake. What does it mean when you don't feel at home with the supposed national ideals and attitudes of your country? What do you do when, after taking a few steps back and looking at your former life from an objectively high perspective, you see national trends and patterns that you've never before seen (or wanted to see)? In other words: what do you do when you don't feel comfortable with the idea of your own country?

I don't know if things have gotten to that point in my head yet, but it's hard not to notice how well the French government treats its citizens. Get past the slow-moving bureaucracy, suffer through the mounds of paperwork, but in the end, win -- because you now have the right to see a doctor whenever you need, get whatever medicine you need, have each and every part of your body treated with the same level of monetary and political respect. What on earth does the American government mean when it agrees to cover the cost of only one broken tooth, and not two? Of my ankles, but not my eyes? (My eye coverage was taken away last year.) Or, conversely, of doctor's advice, but not the medication required to follow through with the advice? Who is this mysterious figure telling me what parts of my body are more valuable than others?

If being a good American means spreading some good old-fashioned Uncle Sam love around the world and touting the values of my country, then I'm George Washington. I showed my students pictures of my life in the United States last week, explaining how diverse the country was (beaches, mountains, cities), how cool New York is (they gasped when they saw a picture of the Empire State Building), how we celebrate our holidays, and, wow, what language do we speak? Anglais! They ate it up.

Not only do I feel slighted for my international efforts, I feel like I'm being punished somehow. I will return to my home country without the right to keep my own body healthy (all parts of it), leading to a whole cycle of American-style madness: searching for a job with "benefits" so I can "earn" this health, but working too hard so that I have to go to the doctor more often anyway; living a life too afraid to mess up or take days off because, god forbid, if I lose this job, I not only have no money, but no way to pay for my contacts, birth control, or anitbiotics when I get H1N1. Next thing you know, I'm blind, pregnant, and coughing up a lung all because Starbucks wasn't hiring full-time employees.

It seems like I'm exaggerating and, maybe in my relatively financially stable case, I am -- but this exact situation replicates itself like cancer among those in the next income bracket down. Ain't that a shame, our Congressmen say -- you should've worked harder.

The whole thing just seems absurd from my perspective. My brain is still processing all of it, reacting and trying to adjust to what I know lies in my near, if possibly not forever, future. I'm going to come home to America and live in New York and I love New York -- but I'm having a hard time not feeling like I'm being given a fat smack by my government. And for what? Graduating college and teaching English.

On another note, I made tapenade the other day and it turned out extremely well. I added some dried figs to the mixture of kalamata olives, herbs, garlic, lemon, capers, and olive oil, which I mashed together with the rounded bottom of my sesame oil bottle. Falafel's next.