Purging Matters

by Paul Gaasenbeek

Overview

Jamie is in the midst of a crummy existence. Haunted by his nightmares, endless anxiety, and stress, Jamie hates his profession, entertains a dysfunctional relationship with himself, and wonders why he is living such a meaningless reality.

As he lets the labels and generalizations reign over his lost identity, Jamie attempts to uncover the truth about himself while taking shots at big business, the environment, the government, and just about everything else that gets in his way. It is not long before Jamie realizes that everyone else is also trying to navigate through life’s dark and worrisome passages, terrified that one day they too will be just like him—lost and alone. As he muddles through his socialized mind and mentally ponders the ideas of past and current philosophers, Jamie discovers that within the grand plan for his life, nothing is as it seems.

In this tongue-in-cheek story that will hit close to home, one man takes an unforgettable journey through reality and the challenges of living in a fast-paced, unfair world, ultimately realizing that there may be no escaping his nightmare after all.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781462060788
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	11/16/2011
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	216
File size:	360 KB

Read an Excerpt

Purging Matters

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By Paul Gaasenbeek

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Paul Gaasenbeek
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-6076-4

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Chapter One

Purging Matters

THE HAUNTING DARKNESS OF my mind engulfs my reality, blinding my vision from the truth I do not know but desperately seek to see. While I wrestle with my site, amazingly, I am still able to run from oblivion towards virtually nothing. I manage to do so manically thanks to my nervous system reminding my brain that I do not want to die. The fight or flight response has taken over for my fragile and confused mind-a psyche that is long gone.

As I scuttle about, my dead spirit and dying body clings pathetically to life like a lowly deformed frog trying to survive an environmental disaster; a tripod at the same time that "thinks" it is one bad leap from being grotesquely consumed by what lurks within its rented cesspool of life. The life alarm is ringing loud but sadly no one can hear the warning. So like the sad little anonymous frog and without thought, I keep up the endless struggle to survive my untenable life by staying just one small step ahead of my monstrous maker.

While I am scurrying rabidly and into obscurity, the sound of my breathing, my existence, is lost into the stagnant air and ominous quiet. Life, ironically, an exaggeration of reality, passes me by painfully slow-like a kidney stone or an episode of just about any television show these days that is I loaded with pointed commercials that warp my good senses. I am alone. My dream is my fate. There is no escaping this all too real nightmare.

I quickly peer behind me as another cold dagger of sweat begins to form on my pale skin. Death is nearer now as a tidal wave of fear hangs precariously above me readying to bring my life to its inevitable end. This is it for me my anxious body screams as I am showered with fear starting from the head down.

"Please stop! I don't want to die! I don't want to die," I cry out pathetically and predictably into deaf ears anyway.

No one can save me; well, except for maybe me but I don't have time to think about that now as I am too busy running. I start to weep as my quivering body and I hurry off into one of the deepest caverns of my vacuous intellect. It is time to hang on as the giant wave of trepidation is almost here; five, four, three, two, one ...

* * *

"It is now time for the morning weather report from our whacky Jack Frost."

"Thank you Marry. Good news for those who are commuting to work today; it is crazy cold out there this morning and the roads are as slippery as murderers who go on trial in Los Angeles-and apparently Florida as well. Top that guilty free cake off with a balmy high of two degrees and you have yourself the makings of a delicious day. Buckle up like OJ had to people because you can run but you cannot hide-winter is here! Now back to the morning news."

"BANG!"

Shut it you too ugly for television "Dick Jockey" I think to myself. Damn! What a way to start the week. I have literally just woken up and I already feel frazzled to the gills. If I was a fish I would be drowning faster than my readers are putting down this book. And that dream? What the hell? What was I running from? Whoever or whatever the boogie man was it seemed way too real for my liking. Sigh! Please give me a generous minute as I need to catch up with my runaway mind. I curl up into as small a ball as my round stomach allows me to and start to cry quietly.

Chapter Two

My Morning at Home

AS I LAY HERE in bed with my heart racing like an eighty year old used to be male on Viagra-irregular, fast and just plain scary, I quicken the need for a quadruple bypass by stressing about activities like styling my hair, plucking my eye brows and shaving. It is weird how my impending heart attack has everything to do with my excess body hair as an astute observation. I love the fact the societal grooming police keep me in line because facial hair takes away from my ability to work well and produce great results.

Seriously, though, I feel so busy and stressed out because every endeavor I decide to take part in feels like such an assignment to me and of course, these self assigned duties never seem to end. On top of having to look presentable to those with different values than me and working out because image is everything, there are the endless errands and jobs that always need to be run. I have to get gas for my car, go groceries shopping, pay the bank a visit once in awhile, do the laundry and so on but these "free time" activities are on top of everything I already "have" to be doing with one hundred and ten percent of my ability. Hell, even when on vacation I am constantly mindful about spending too much money so there appears to be absolutely no decompression time for me in my adult life.

It feels like I am always busy suckling from the tit of life-my socialization, in some mindless way and this is making me sick. I labor hard to earn money-not that money is the key to life but I am talking in a general sense here, so I can enjoy my existence to a degree but at every breast I get a mammogram instead of milk so my anger and stress levels are growing. My existence really sucks because of all the examinations and lack of anxiety free moments.

I am getting this information out of the way right now so you don't assume I am merely having a wretched emergence to this miraculous, yet, dark dawning of a new week. So there you have it; welcome to my crummy life. I hope to catch my mental runaway thinking train soon but for now I need to keep on running in the direction of work. My brain may be derailed but at least I still have my health. Whoa, that was a weird pain!

So, for better or for worse, here I am at seven thirty three on a Monday morning already wishing it was Friday at seven when it is okay to leave work and not look like a piker. On top of feeling like a fish in a bowl that is looking into the used barrel of a fisherman's gun, I feel like I did not even sleep a wink last night. As an aside, I don't get what constitutes night time? Should people say I slept one hour last night and seven this morning if they went to bed at eleven? Does this make sense? Does anyone even care? Does it matter? Humor me for a while as my bed is nice and warm and I do not feel like moving. There is a method to my madness you know.

Anyway, as I try to ascend from my melancholic slumber, I can't help but feel warm, comfortable and safe. I don't want to move never mind get up. I close my eyes and think that I am enjoying the moment ...

* * *

"What you need to do is stay warm. It is a cold one out there today."

"BANG! BANG! BANG! And stay dead," I holler!

It is now eight thirty. I peel my round behind out of bed quicker than a newly elected politician breaks his platform promise to work on behalf of the people and to bring credibility back to politics; incredibly accomplished on his first day while repeating the Oath of Office:

"I, (Mr. Hypocrite Liar Cheater), do solemnly swear (you ignorant idiots-you voted me in?) that I will support (myself) and defend the Constitution against all enemies (but only if that means I do not have to serve in the Army); foreign or domestic (you mean rich or poor right?); that I will bear true faith and allegiance (to what my buddies and I like); that I take this obligation freely (like your money), without any mental reservations or purpose (other than bilking the system of money); and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office (when it suits my purpose) on which I am about to enter. So help my dog."

Moving along, it is time to start my morning ritual. First on my mental list of things to do is thinking about what number two is-which is pondering about what number three is? Momentum my friend is the key to everything. With the first couple of tasks completed, I do move on to rung number three and that is to contemplate the following; why am I living like this? I hate my profession to be sure, I am entertaining a relationship with myself that is so dysfunctional that not even Gandhi would touch it if he were still around and my cat never stops meowing-how sad is that? I was granted the right to live at birth but if surviving constitutes living to those who made the rules then let's do things right; paint me red, white and green, hang me up and call me a human piñata.

Anyway, it is time to move on to the next step-the shower, as I do not have time to think about anything else on my sad little list now. Of course, I never do. Excuse me, please.

I jump into the shower with a heart rate of about one hundred and fifty beats per second. That extra hour of sleep has really paid off for me as now I can die from cardiac arrest well rested.

"911. What's the emergency?"

Nothing is going right for me. Even my grammar sucks, right? Well, as long as you can understand me I am okay with that. Truly, having "impeccable" grammar is the least of my worries right now because this is a book of ideas and not grammar so I will continue to make mistakes on purpose just to prove that point ... Does this cover me from being liable; like every company around that puts a lame warning label on their product-just in case? You should read what some companies are sticking on their products these days. Don't stop the chainsaw with your hands. Don't spray the Windex in your eyes. Keep the baby oil away from babies. This Superman cape cannot make you fly. These are all real warning labels that have been plastered on products in our world. Have we lost our minds? Anyway, I hope I am free of being culpable for my poor grammar, now. Back to my day that is currently in progress.

Wow, this shampoo is really burning my eyes today. Oh my goodness, it is soap! As I blast the tiny little bubbles from my irritated eyeballs using water that can't make up its mind if it wants to be way to hot or cold, all I can think about during my "morning moment of reflection" is what a terrific start of the new week this is turning out to be. I could not have planned it any better. This "moment" is step six of my habitual morning ritual. I deleted step five for you as that is just me swearing and shouting uncontrollably for as long as I need to.

After my pseudo like shower, I feed my cat with one chubby stump still naked of it's made for a model pant leg and then quickly eat my breakfast-which at home is nothing more than a golden brown three week old banana. Yes, bananas are supposed to be yellow; but when first picked they are actually green as an aside. The bananas are then gassed with ethylene in order to quicken the ripening process to turn them yellow. Finally, due to the bananas sitting out forever they turn brown like mine. Provocative information or what? I am just warming up, though. Anyway, enough about produce or anything else for that matter as I really need to get my clogged arteries out of here and fast.

So, that was my glorious morning at home. I would prefer it to be more peaceful and not like being at a Slayer concert but thinking about where I will be later, my morning will look good in retrospect so out the all too thin societal storm blocking door I go. Looking back, though, I think I filled Babo's food bowl with some kind of delicious and supposedly nutritious cereal. Cats eat anything and everything don't they? I feel bad for poor Babo. I will make things up to my cute little kitty later. Sadly, if I had a nickel for every time I uttered those empty words I would be a few more dollars in debt after factoring in those shifty little bank fees and of course, inflation.

More about banks later but before I really get into my day you have a choice to make. You can take the blue pill and end up where you started before you joined me-perhaps a little dumber because of the last eight pages but back to where it is you dwell; or you can pop the red pill and accompany me on this ride that will leave you gasping for a sequel. All I offer, though, are some laughs, a few tears, a massive barrage of informative purging that will make you think differently and one huge cold truth. What you choose to believe is up to you, however.

Excellent! Now there is one thing you should realize before we move forward. I could have mentioned this before you took the red pill but my bad. Anyway, I know I will go off on some of the same things from time to time but please look at the title of this book. If I was not constantly purging-sharing my feelings about what I see, wouldn't you be thinking; "Why the hell is this book called, "Purging Matters?" I feverishly and honestly attack all that is wrong in society and I make no excuses for this-even if that means challenging you by the way. This is more than my story-it is ours; even if you do not realize it now.

Now, if I did a one eighty and I cleaned this masterpiece up I could call it, "Happiness for All in a Dewy Meadow" but look around you, the meadows are polluted and many people are not all that happy. So, instead of getting all cutesy with you and blowing smoke up your crack pipe that would really only make you feel better than you do now for a short time, I think it is time for a stomach wrenching gut check. It is time for real change. It is time for "Purging Matters!" There is a lot to cover so let's get moving shall we.

Chapter Three

On Route

WOW, IT IS WINTRY out here today. I guess this should not be a surprise to me considering I heard that it was forty three times on the radio this morning. Of course, being so immersed in my morning my brain obviously did what it automatically and often does and that is it deleted information it saw as unnecessary as it can only take in so much. Mine may be a little slow and in need of an overhaul to get more usage out of the four percent I am using now but the old melon is the only one I have so for now I will simply say it is cold out and move on. Oh, and it being chilly out is not the one big cold truth I promised you for the record. You will know it when you read it. It is a life changer, though, to be sure.

Back to the Arctic chill I am experiencing, my whole body now seems frozen in time. This is not good! Anyway, I hope the heart beat that motors my life kicks in and fast. I have had trouble in the past with it so there is reason to be worried. Come on baby, you can do it. I get the news quickly; without a pulse, the factory given but not guaranteed "die hard battery" is dead-or at least dormant for the time being. I need a jump and fast. Luckily, I see Bob galloping up my driveway like he knew I would be needing help this morning.

"Bob," I yelp in a panicky voice.

"You okay?"

"No, I need a jump. Do you have you cables with you," I gasp?

"Of course, Jamie; I never leave without them," Bob states with purpose.

After hooking up the cables, I am jolted back to life-but just for a second. I need some more help here. The cold is unrelenting.

Bob tries again, "Clear!" and this time, success.

"Thanks," I mutter a few seconds later as I get strapped in for my ride to hell.

Bob states "you're welcome," and that is that-I am on my way.

From the "death machine," as I always do, I use my over charged security blanket to call work to let whoever wants to know that I am running late but on route. This is my normal custom. With one hand on the wheel and even less of an eye on the road, I use the better half of my inadequate body to concentrate on dialing work's number. If is now nine fifteen in the morning; time is flying by but still at only one second at a time. Funny how that works? Excuse me, please.

"Hello. Thanks for calling ..."

"Listen! Tell Heather that I am on my way and everything is okay. Hold one, get going man! Come on! Hurry up! Yeah, great! Merge into traffic doing thirty five instead of fifty five; real safe driving there sir. Can't you see we have an emergency here?"

There are so many "Cracker Jacks Box" certified drivers out here it makes me crazy and want to play the game, "Grand Theft Auto." However, if I did play that game here and now I would be designated as having "road rage" and who wants that. This is not a good condition to be labeled as having in our society so for now I will just pretend that I do not have that mental state where people get angry while driving because some drivers are fucking idiots. However, concurrently, I will continue to scream and yell at other motorists like a lunatic on eight pounds of crack cocaine because I am an ignorant fool-and perhaps have road rage. Let the labels and generalizations reign over my lost identity.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Purging Matters by Paul Gaasenbeek Copyright © 2011 by Paul Gaasenbeek. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Purging Matters....................1
My Morning at Home....................3
On Route....................8
The Coffee Shop....................11
Almost In Hell....................17
How Are You....................20
Athletes and Actors....................26
Heather's Office....................31
Just Like That-At the Gym....................37
The Myth of Self Esteem....................40
Off to the Bookstore I Think....................45
At the Bank....................49
Brand Names and then the Bookstore....................54
In the Bookstore....................58
A Criminal Game....................64
The Trap....................68
Assisted Suicide and the Grocery Store....................73
Guns and Murder....................79
Language and the Cashier Moment....................82
Getting Closer to Something....................86
Part 2 The Beginning of the End The Awakening....................90
Freedom....................92
"Politics"....................97
In Pieces....................104
At the Gym-Once Again....................107
Post Workout....................112
Praying, Nature and other Things....................117
The Lack of Transparency....................122
Back to Nature....................126
The Bookstore-Part Two....................131
"D-Day"....................138
Business and More Purging....................144
The Airline Industry....................148
Stop Complaining....................152
Half Full or Half Empty....................158
The Gas Station Episode....................163
Back to Reality-Like I Ever Left....................168
Round Two at the Grocery Store....................171
My Last Dream....................179
Saving Time....................181
The Art of Procrastination....................186
Crooked Ideas....................188
Publishers-You Suck....................194
"D-Day" Revisited....................199
The Noose Paper....................201
Fade to Black-the Goodbye....................208