Being Sick Makes Me Homesick

It's impossible to find Chicken Soup as we Americans know it in Switzerland. This makes being sick a rough deal. What's worse is that it leads one think, as they lie idly, sick, with foreign TV, of other things lacking and missing and therefore being missed. Becuase, quite honestly, things that are missing are not necessarily worth being missed, and yet, I miss them. I miss them all good and bad. I miss Eugene and the rain. I miss 13th and Espresso Roma. I miss my shitty apartment behind the Glenwood. I miss Joel's apartment on 13th. I miss playing pool at the Indigo District and The Horse Head. I miss Portland and the rain there, too. I miss the Brazen Bean, The Horse Brass and my old room on 2nd Avenue. I miss Market of Choice on Terwilliger, the cemeteries, Stumptown Coffee, playing pool at River City Saloon. I miss Lint in the Pearl and Mable's on Division. I miss the library. I miss OPB radio. I miss Spokane and the way the sunlight filters through the trees. I miss my apartment on 11th. I miss my kitchen and Fiesta Ware, my spices and cookbooks. I miss the Elk and Far West. I miss my family. I miss meeting people and being able to communicate comfortably and naturally in native English. I miss being and feeling understood. I'm homesick. I'm really, really, horribly, terribly homesick. I've been here exactly one month. It's about time I feel homesick. In another two weeks I will absolutely hate Switzerland and everything about it. Then, once the culture shock has passed, I will be able to start really living here and settle in. And then it won't be so bad. Then I'll start to love it and someday when I no longer live here, that will be the Switzerland I'll miss. But today I want home. And even that is unattainable. It's a confused medley of Eugene, Portland and Spokane and I miss them all at once.