And picking roommates for the next three years is great practice for prioritizing the qualities you'd want in future housemates. Do you like people who squeeze the Aim tube from the bottom? Do you hate it when the toilet paper is rolled over instead of under? It's never too early to pick that perfect rooming group.
SO DESPITE ALL the pain and anguish, the lottery process can be truly a positive experience, bringing first-years together and injecting a sense of suspense and excitement into the other wise dreaded weeks of mid-term exams.
The lottery returns a sense of camaraderie long missing from the first-year class since Orientation Week.
Only this time, talk in the Union switches from what your hometown is and who your roommates are to where will you be and who will you live with. It's like having a fresh start all over again.
On the morning when everyone found out, Harvard Yard was like a summer camp. A group of future Dunsterites had gathered by the kiosk in front of Emerson Hall, a procession of celebrating Currier-bound first-years lined the walk in front of Lamont and a bunch of soon-to-become Adams folks sat on the steps of University Hall.
Of course, throughout all of this, the grief-stricken cry from the third floor of Weld reminded all of the uncaring eye of statistics. The berserk first-year was dragged off in a straight-jacket, most likely only to return in the fall to find himself with all kinds of floaters in his common room (you know, on account of some dingbat explanation like fewer juniors taking the semester off due to the recession).
In any case, it's over. The whole lottery process really wasn't that hellish after all. Don't worry about where the Fates of Harvard flung you. Read that housing form, run to your roommates' dorm and head over to your future house for breakfast. Or maybe for brunch tomorrow.
Don't forget that tie if it's Eliot, keep your pajamas on if it's Adams and start hailing a cab if it's Currier. Treat yourself. You'll be walking a hell of a lot for the next three years.