I cannot follow my own advice

I+cannot+follow+my+own+advice

I feel like Alice in Wonderland.

Wait, you read that wrong. I feel like Alice in Wonderland in Disney’s animated version where she’s crying in the woods and singing about how she gives herself very good advice but she very seldom follows it.

I can tell myself and plenty of other people that schoolwork will get done in the end. Deep down I know how much of a lie that is.

That’s why I put off writing this column and listened to my 2-year-old sister talk about day care instead. It’s why I called Jason Friday afternoon and told him about the Navy corpsman I got to interview for this issue instead of working on the pile of assignments in my backpack.

I didn’t even open my backpack until Sunday. Yeah, yeah, it’s my own fault I put off everything and I’m writing this in a wacked-out caffeinated state.

While I may not have stuck true to my resolutions of putting some hours in at the library Saturday or researching my thesis Friday, I kept busy with the Homecoming events.

I had the opportunity to cover the Distinguished Alumni dinner and sit with Jay Alberstadt and his family. They were very understanding about my declining drinks and my note-taking at the dinner table.

When Alberstadt was presented with his award, Greg Czarnecki, the president of the Alumni Association, said the Alberstadts could often come off as intimidating with their famous sarcasm. Almost every person at that table reiterated everything they said was “off the record,” so I saw some of the sarcasm.

I also saw a family that took care of each other by asking about vegetarian options for one of the daughters-in-law and fetching drinks for each other. I hope my siblings and I will get to that point one day.

The last time I was home a few weeks ago, my teenage siblings showed me how to dance to The Chainsmokers and I witnessed my mom singing “Cheap Thrills” by Daya.

Just picture your pharmacist singing Daya, and you’ll know what it was like. In retrospect, my siblings were just training me for the Homecoming dance.

I embraced the fact I look like a constipated chicken while dancing — after a good share of adult beverages — and belted out every country song on the DJ’s playlist. It also helped to have Chantal dancing with me Saturday.

It’s one thing to make a fool out yourself alone, but having your best friend there makes it cool. Err, at least a little less pathetic.

I suggested Chantal come to Homecoming after I spent a weekend in her hometown as a passing comment, but she followed through and I’m glad she did.

My only regret is my attempt to finish some of this work Sunday afternoon instead of spending more time with her.

Still, I got a full night of dancing in. I found an insane deal on a dress for a military ball Jason wants to attend in November, and I had dinner with some of Gannon’s finest alumni.

Even if I very seldom follow my good advice, it was worth the nagging conscience Sunday to take the weekend off.