WHEN I came to Harvard, I expected it to be like "Love Story." I would be Jenny (only a longer-lived version) and I would find my Oliver. It hasn't happened.

Maybe I'm just projecting, but as far as I can tell, the typical Harvard student is repressed and sexually frustrated. We walk around buckling under the weight of our backpacks, jerking upright when we sense an attractive peer nearby. "Where? Where?" we all ask.

"Oooh, look at that babe!"

"Must not go here."

We're all complainers and whiners. "Radcliffe women are ugly dogs," I hear. "Too smart, you can't trick them."

According to the guys across the hall, the term for Radcliffe women has been contemporized to "Heinous Bush Pig."

And Harvard men? Too immature, oversexed, ugly, unwilling to commit. The wise woman doesn't trust a Harvard man any farther than she can throw him.

We complain about the pool of potential partners, yet all year we stalk each other. We wander in circles, telling ourselves that our sexual frustrations, our weekly Store 24 binges and our raving tantrums about our pathetic sex lives are the fault of Them--our classmates. If only we had normal men/women here, I wouldn't have these problems.

We seek solace in Wellesley, MIT, food and drink.

UNTIL spring. The season of lounging on the grass, blowing off work and falling in love is here.

It must be me. Everyone around me seems to be affected by it--except me, that is. How else to explain why all of a sudden, when walking through the Yard, I see dozens of couples holding hands and cooing at one another.

It's disgusting. What happened to their integrity, to our bond of mutual sexual frustration? Why am I the only one not walking arm in arm, locked at the lips with someone?

In the past week, three good friends of mine have started "dealing." All within two days of one another.

Traitors.

We binged, whined and complained together about the sorry state of men and women here. And now they're taking walks, going out to dinner and talking on the phone for hours with the objects of their affection. I feel betrayed.