Vespers: Volume Six

By Meghan McDonnell

Vespers is the sixth installment of the personal journals in which, for 30 years, writer Meghan McDonnell has intimately chronicled her life beginning at age eight through present day. With searing candor and tenderness, her musings on daily experiences and observations of family, social and romantic relationships, and the interior life coalesce in a commentary on facing passion and fear, embracing the light and dark, and American life in the 21st century. Wide in scope and vivid and provocative in detail, her journals are her confessional love letter to the world. Join her on a fearless, vulnerable, profoundly surprising, sometimes painful and quixotic, but always honest journey, also known as the human experience. Readers who love Joan Didion or Cheryl Strayed will enjoy this author.
In volume six in this addictive and vicarious real-life series, McDonnell contends with a boyfriend in spiritual crisis, college, working in a bar, a trip to New York, and reflections on relationships with family and friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meghan McDonnell
• Release date: Feb 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370903283

Meghan McDonnell

Meghan McDonnell lives in Walla Walla with the man she loves. When she’s not writing or reading, she spends time outdoors, solves crossword puzzles, and pretends to garden.

Book preview

Vespers: The Journals of Meghan McDonnell

Volume Six

Meghan McDonnell

Copyright 2017 Meghan K. McDonnell

Discover other Titles by Meghan McDonnell:

Minor: Volume One

Novice: Volume Two

Limbo: Volume Three

Elsewhere: Volume Four

Faithful: Volume Five

Onward: Volume Seven

Sojourn: Volume Eight

Ingress: Volume Nine

Note

All names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty. I have solely recorded my interpretations and opinions of all events. Certain place names have been changed. Aside from minor edits, all else is as I wrote it at the time. If you’re new to the journals, welcome. If you’re a veteran, thank you for coming back for more. You’ll find links to songs, books, films, and more throughout the text, and a playlist at the end.

Contents

November 2001

December 2001

January 2002

February 2002

March 2002

April 2002

May 2002

June 2002

July 2002

Playlist

November 2001

Thursday, November 1, 2001

Was it only two days since I last wrote? I went to Dos Padres to get a drink before art class. Cassie was there. We went home to make falafel and cake and then went to the Black Cat. I read while she studied. I cried my eyes out. I got an intense feeling that Charlie is going away but I don’t know where. I cried because I understood his pain about Rebecca and it reminded me of my experience with Lucas. I told Cassie what I felt. We played cards while she told me what she thought. Cass said Charlie is mixed up and that I have to let him go. She said I am strong and she put it in perspective for me. I called an airline to get price quotes for a trip to Belize. Cass comforted me and made me feel better. I won all the card games we played and she called me names.

We went to the Caddyshack and I spent most of the time talking to Margo. I listened to her while she told me that she’s doing her own thing and she doesn’t care about anything that’s not in her immediate presence. She told me she loves me. She said she doesn’t know anything about my life and I don’t know anything about hers because I never ask. She said she didn’t know about my switch from Jeff to Charlie, as she put it.

Margo told me that she feels let down by me because once when we hung out last spring, she was struggling with Terrence and per her, we spent the day together and then I boned out to see Jeff and it really hurt her. Because we didn’t spend the night together? Is it flaky and selfish to spend the day with your friend? Really?

I don’t wonder why I was leery about seeing her when she felt the need to bring up the past and throw shit in my face. It rang a bell when she repeated, I just really felt like I needed to tell you that. That is exactly what I wrote in a letter to her several months ago where I laid out that I got no support from her after the rape. Fuck this shit. My friends are lame. I am afraid to see them because if I do, I will be a bitch. I don’t feel like they are my friends right now.

Charlie came home early in the morning after the night I was scared he was leaving for good. I went to my dance class and then had a meeting with my teacher. She said I am a natural modern dancer and that it is apparent in my movement. I went to a viewing of Do the Right Thing for film class. It is a beautiful, heavy, and powerful movie. I wrote my paper for it right after it ended. When I got home, Cassie and Michelle were there. Charlie lay on the living room floor in the dark listening to Bob Dylan. My new favorite by him is Nobody ‘Cept You.

Charlie had consumed an entire bottle of nutmeg, presumably for its hallucinogenic properties. I looked it up in my herb books and read that in high doses, it can cause convulsions, palpitations, and in extreme cases, death. I was concerned. Sadie moved into my building and we hung out that night and had coffee. It was fun going back and forth to each other’s apartments as I periodically checked on Charlie. He cried hysterically and when I opened the door to check on him, he said, Please leave me alone. Later, he laughed. He went to lay on the bed later and asked me to gently pull his hair and said, Mmm. That feels good. I stayed with him and then went back to Sadie’s to hang out while she got ready to go out. Cassidy slipped out without saying goodbye as usual.

I went to the Beaver to finish Blue Diary and have a beer. When I got home, I lay down with Charlie. He was rude to me. I stood up and went off on him. I said I’m not tolerating any more bullshit from him. I told him I know that he is angry and hurt and I am sorry for that but I am not a punching bag. I was disgusted with myself for putting up with it. He apologized.

I said, Do you want to hurt me? Do you want to kill me? Do you want money? Cigarettes? Anything? Take it. I hope you’re happy and getting what you need. I banged some pots and cupboards in the kitchen before I chilled out and finished my book and went to sleep.

We spent the morning together after we woke up. Charlie was in a sleepy daze. Whenever I came in to see him, he said, Thank you. Thank you, Meghan. I want to do good things for you. I went to campus to turn in my film paper and ran into Michelle Glass. She said she wanted doughnuts. I told her I could take her to the store. We ran into Cassidy and she didn’t talk to me. I told Michelle I think she is angry with me and it sucks. I love Cass. Michelle and I went grocery shopping and then back to her place. She lives with Anna and it is a wonderful home. It is light and spacious with a fireplace, high ceilings with wood beams, and little nooks everywhere. The place is filled with plants and herbs and wooden furniture.

I went home to put groceries away and do laundry. Charlie was sweet to me. Sadie and I hung out and drank wine. Greg came over before art class. We talked about Jackson Pollock. We went to class and watched a ridiculous video about an art collector who was a toolbox. He was unbelievable. It reminded me that people are out there making beautiful things and then there’s a money-driven side to the industry. The ones on that side suck off the artists and try to convince the masses that they know what they are talking about. When class ended, Greg and I walked home and discussed Cassidy.

She is setting up her war camp at his house with Nina and co. Greg said he overheard a lot. Cassidy said that Charlie and I fight all the time and it’s chaos. She said she can’t study at our apartment and she’s too distracted to figure out what she wants. She went on about how I haven’t been going to classes and I’ll probably flunk out. She said she was livid when she saw me with Michelle today (how dare her cousin consort with the enemy?) and she couldn’t even look at me. Greg said it was apparent that many things underlie her anger that have nothing to do with me. He and I talked about how when you are struggling, it is easier to pin it on one source or situation. I know Cassie is unhappy about things that go far beyond me and our living situation.

Cassidy has wanted a man for a long time. She’s not happy in Bellingham. She shuts herself off from me sometimes. It’s a complicated mixture of her being territorial about me and then resenting how I live my life because I do what I want.

Greg and I are at the Black Cat and Cassidy showed up. It feels weird to be writing about her while she’s one seat away. I’m sad about his. I’m sick of all my friends thinking I suck when I have a boyfriend. Is balance not possible? I don’t want balance. I want my friends to stop expecting shit from me that I don’t expect of them and to stop expecting shit that they refuse to give.

Now I get to feel uncomfortable every time I see the girls because Margo refuses me. And why does Margo do that? Because I blatantly told her in a letter that she is a shitty friend. I needed to write that letter. Cassie hates me for many reasons, some of which have nothing to do with me. And she’s leaning on Nina, another dear friend who I shouldn’t have to feel funny about. Nina is a great listener and is hearing, via Cassidy, what a lame person I am.

Thank God for Sadie and Tilda. Although Charlie wants to fuck Tilda, so that leaves Sadie. I am disillusioned. I want my old life back: my apartment to myself, time to write and read and be alone with music whenever the hell I want. No friends to disappoint me or for me to disappoint. I have Stephen. He’s been good to me.

Maybe for once, it’s fair for me to say, Fuck this. I’m hurt. I’m tired of this. I am going to do whatever the fuck I want and I don’t care who it affects or how. I am doing my damnedest to keep my ears and eyes open. I’m trying to remain compassionate. I have no ulterior motives. I’m not trying to get anything from anyone except your true self. I take care of my shit, so take care of yours. We have lessened each other’s worries in the past. I get as confused and angry as anyone. But I don’t project that onto you.

Greg told me Cassidy admires me.

I can’t stop thinking of The Smiths song "Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want." It reminds me of Skyler, Sadie, Cleveland, and England.

Love, Meghan

Saturday, November 3, 2001

It’s bullshit when I don’t write every day. I’m smoking in my kitchen even though it’s not allowed. But it’s my kitchen and I’ll smoke in it once in a while if I want. I’m waiting for dishes and laundry to dry. I’m in a domestic mood and listening to Joni Mitchell.

I worked earlier tonight and came out to the street to find my honey in a hooded sweatshirt yelling out to people. I took him home and lay him down in bed before I went back to work. I wanted to write when I finished work but Aidan came by and we talked instead.

I went grocery shopping and Sadie stopped by earlier. I feel more peaceful about Charlie. I saw Cassie last night. It was strange. I want us to make it through this even if it’s awkward.

Love, Meghan

Monday, November 5, 2001

I’m at Hidden Café to do homework. I got an A on my art class test. I don’t feel too proud because it is an easy class. I went running earlier. It was the first time since Charlie came back to Bellingham. It has gotten cold. I enjoyed my run and it improved my work in dance class.

I talked to Jeff earlier. He is planning a move to LA. He is seeing a girl named Megan. He is legit. He is an understanding person.

I feel down. I worked at the Hitch, had a break, and then went back to bar back on Saturday night. In between shifts, I walked outside to find Charlie sitting on the curb, yelling at passersby. I took him home, went to the Beaver, and went back to work. When Aidan and I talked later that night, he told me he is worried about me.

I spent yesterday watching Magnolia and Requiem for a Dream for film class assignments. Charlie and Sadie joined me. I worked again last night and Nina came in when I got done so we talked. She told me she has heard from a lot of people that I am never around anymore. I told Nina that I do disappear sometimes but I am never entirely MIA. It’s not as though our friends are sitting around waiting for me or making efforts to see me. I am tired of seeing old friends and all they can do while we spend time together is say, Why don’t we ever hang out? You are never around, when I am right in front of them. It makes me sad that we do not cohere as we used to.

Nina is an awesome listener and she doesn’t judge me. I told her the last time we were around each other all the time was when I was with Lucas. I have changed since that time. My friends don’t recognize me because I am different from who I used to be. If I don’t hang out, it’s because I don’t want to feel undeservingly alienated for what is not a crime (solitude and time with my boyfriend).

I met Charlie’s friend James over the weekend. He and Cara came in to the bar while I worked. I told Charlie that I don’t know if he and Cara want each other or what, but if that’s what they want, then go for it. I can’t determine if Charlie desires to be with her or if he feels toward her how I feel about Aidan or Nate.

When Charlie and I got home on Saturday night, Cassie stood outside smoking. She told me about a wedding she went to. She said things to me like, Well, maybe if you went to your classes, you wouldn’t be confused. I smiled and gritted my teeth and thought loudly, Does anyone else want to have a whack at me? Because apparently, I’ve degenerated into a lousy human being and I could use an ass-kicking, or at least a good talking-to.

I can’t stop listening to The Smiths. They remind me of freshman year up here and coffee in Sadie’s room and London and clubs and wintertime and warmth. They make me feel like the lonely dude with the Mohawk dancing in the corner alone; the one content to drink beers with his mates and destroy property and nurse his abstract sadness.

I am caught between wondering if I should stay in Bellingham until I graduate with no long-term break, or take winter quarter off and head to Mexico or the American Southwest. I want to landscape or dig ditches in New Mexico. I want to get tan and sleep under a desert sky. I feel sad and strong.

I saw Margo while I talked on the phone at work earlier. She looked disinterested to see me. Aren’t I boring.

Nobody ‘Cept You by Bob Dylan is playing. It gives me the "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down" feeling. Sometimes Dylan sings these sweet, uplifting love songs. They are the ones that make me feel like crying most. I can’t accept mediocrity in love and I never will. It’s either got to be balls out or forget it. I’m tired of being kind of loved. I have my books and my pen and I have music.

My sister was right on the mark when several years ago she said that Simon & Garfunkel’s "I Am a Rock suits me to a T: I am a rock. I am an island. I have no need for friendship. Friendship causes pain. It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain. I have my books … Then there’s the part of me that thrives on people and wants to ride the sea of them. Maybe I’m selfish, as if I say to people, Okay. Come around. Let me learn from you and be affected by you. Now please go away."

It’s amusing how many people think they know me. I don’t write this out of cockiness or from a sense of, There’s no one I like enough to trouble them with my thoughts. But I have many acquaintances. Tori and Tilda made fun of me last night for having so many friends. They told me a hell of a lot more people consider me their friend than I acknowledge. So by default, I let these people down because I don’t rely on them to fulfill me the way they rely on me to fulfill them? Forget it. I’m scratching my head, asking if I’m still the girl prone to depression and fits and irritation with people. Am I still the girl with unruly habits and the need for large swaths of solitude? Yes, I do want time for myself. I want time to process this silly life. I want to have a good time and laugh and shrug it off and understand what is and isn’t worth sweating.

Enjoy the Silence is on and I wonder why I wasn’t a young adult in London in the 1980s, snorting coke and drinking lager in a hot pink get up. If I were relocated in time, I would want to live in the 1920s: feathers and bows, dark lipstick, a handsome man to take me dancing and feed me Champagne. I am reverting into dream world because it is more fun and feels better than my present reality.

I have homework to do and that fun old guilty feeling, Your parents are putting you through college. Are you blowing it and taking it for granted? It feels like a game in my head. It boils down to principles. At least I got an A in art class. It reflects that I have mastered a couple elements in the game.

I can’t get over how beautiful and sad Jennifer Connelly is in Requiem for a Dream. I feel more cynical and sarcastic tonight than I have since high school. I feel beautiful, independent, and defiant, like I can smile and say, Uh huh, and then go do what I want. Homework calls.

Love, Meghan

(later) I may vomit. I am on break at work. Behind Door #1, we’ve got Cassidy, Nina, and Margo. Can we rub some shit in my face or what? At the next table, we have Charlie, James, and the lovely Cara. I am tired of people. I’m worn the fuck out. I’m a good person. I am honest and strong. I see people do stupid shit to themselves and each other. My mini mental breakdown is not professional. But why is everyone on parade tonight at the bar where I work? I just noticed a few people leaving. Good. Go home. Lock yourself up and get drunk and be quiet.

If not for music, I would be bashing my head against the bathroom wall. I would rather be alone on a mountaintop for the rest of my life than continue enduring the junk and ugliness and half-assed sideways glances and lies and pain. I stand smiling, teeth clenched, and say, No. No longer. If not for Shannon, Jill, Beth, and Tori, I would be standing on a table screaming, telling people to go away and no, they can’t have another rum & coke and no, they can’t have any cheese fries.

Part of me tells myself, You brought this on yourself, Meghan. You’ve got a hand in it. Take responsibility. "Hallelujah" is on and when it ends, I am going to breathe and not speak and I will take stupid drink orders and call on reserves of calm and grace. I am tired. I am alone. And maybe I want to be alone. Can I just listen to music and read books for the rest of my life?

I don’t need to be angry or sad now. I need to be aware and peaceful and strong in the goodness of who I am. I have music and words and images that have nothing to do with the severe, grade A bullshit around me. Now is no time to go AWOL. I have papers to write and wine to drink later.

People are good. They are stupid and strange sometimes. I can’t believe their nerve and lack of tact. I have to smile, bow my head to the spirit, atone, and move on. I must stop sticking my head in the mud. I don’t need to pound sand, as Dad says.

Leonard Cohen was spot-on when he wrote Maybe there’s a God above but all I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.

Love, Meghan

Tuesday, November 6, 2001

I’m up on my roof. It is absurdly gorgeous. The sun is golden and shining through the trees. I like the perspective from here. We learned about Franz Kafka in class today. He was born under the sign of Cancer like me. Kafka and I are similar: prone to depression, loners surrounded by people, quitting jobs we work too hard at because it doesn’t leave enough time to write. Kafka studied law (which I wanted to do) and literature. In his will, he requested that his friend burn all his work. His friend published it instead. Our professor made a point that I had never considered: writers must have an audience in mind; otherwise, they wouldn’t write it down. They would leave it at the thought level.

I can’t describe the colors around me right now. Blue sky. Sun. Brown leaves. Gray water. Green trees. Bare branches and my own shadow. I’m wearing Papa’s green sweater, the one he used to wear when he went fishing. Great Aunt Rebecca made it for him so he could be warm on the water.

I like the sweet dread of climbing up the fire escape rungs to get up to this roof. The pounding heart and shaking hands. I’m not alone. A seagull is perched across from me. Bjork sang branch when I wrote that word a minute ago. When I looked up at the seagull, Bjork sang, I thrive best hermit-style with a beard and a pipe and a parrot on each side.

I