Last Thursday was Harvard’s annual Housing Day: when freshman are told where they will be living for the next three years of their undergraduate study. Upperclassman wake up at an ungodly hour to dorm-storm the rooms of those that will be entering their house. For freshman, it is an unforgettable experience.

While attempting to complete River Run (taking a shot in each upperclassman house) you feel like a spy by either dodging securitas or walking right by them explaining your sudden, desperate need to study in Dunster because of that midterm/presentation/lab happening tomorrow.

Although if you do complete River Run, chances are you weren’t feeling so hot by the end.

Whether you did nine, 12, or zero shots, once you do go to bed, you can't sleep due to what feels like pre-Christmas-morning-as-a-five-year-old insomnia.

So. Much. Excitement.

You wake up to the yells of upperclassman, feeling anything but well rested, (and possibly hungover), but simultaneously extremely pumped.

You start off good. You and your blocking group are so ready for this.

And then the waiting begins.

Maybe you hear Cabor/Curreir/Pfoho walk into your entryway and for a few anxious seconds, you think they’re coming for you.

Maybe they did.

Or perhaps they didn’t and you felt immense relief.

Finally, a ton of upperclassmen bang on your door, screaming, and suddenly you fall in love with whatever house you got (even if you were Quaded).