This week, I write to you a preoccupied woman. For some time now, I have been contemplating a decision that seems to hold surprising bearing on the way I see myself as a person. Should I, as a co-term, attend Full Moon on the Quad?

Before you judge me too harshly, let me explain myself as best I can by going through my history of full moons in October. My freshman year, I was herded to the Quad along with the rest of my dorm and spent a few hours wandering around with my eyes big as dinner plates. Needless to say, between the shocked staring and shy hiding, I experienced minimal making out that first year. The next full moon is a little bit more difficult for me to remember; I’ll say that I probably overcompensated for the previous year and leave my description at that. Junior year, carefully considering my two confusing and unfulfilling experiences, I opted out entirely and spent the evening in my pajamas in my room. Last year, my senior year, I decided months in advance that it was going to be my year, my opportunity to kiss tons of freshmen, on my terms. I gave myself regular internal pep talks, assuring myself of my more-or-less average sex appeal and my status as an empowered feminist. Being prone to overanalyzing and awkwardness, building up the self-confidence necessary to be ready to throw myself into the Quad to be a make-out-machine was no easy task for me. When the time neared, to further lock myself into my commitment, I announced to whomever would listen my plans to go initiate some freshmen, assertions of, “I do what I want!” sprinkled throughout.

My distress was nontrivial when I heard that Full Moon on the Quad might be canceled due to swine flu complications. With my preparation already mostly complete, the sudden inability to achieve my goal upset me and possibly drove logic out of my mind, and I wildly claimed that I would hold the event in my room—come one, come all. When I became symptomatic of swine flu and started sporting a surgical mask, the reality of the situation finally took hold, and I surrendered my senior year Full Moon on the Quad to another night spent in my room, this time quarantined.

I feel like I deserve my senior year Full Moon on the Quad, and if it has to be delayed one more year, I can just consider myself lucky that I am still a student and still in the area. The visceral refusal to truly become a “sketchy grad student” is strong, however, and makes me hesitant to attend. Should I leave the evening’s bacchanalia to those who have not yet walked the Wacky Walk? Perhaps I should, but a belligerent voice in my head shrieks, “We were robbed!” whenever I try to cancel my full moon plans. I am, perhaps, redefining spoiled entitlement; it seems that I truly believe in my right to kiss fresh-faced 18 year olds under the guise of tradition.

As I am writing, it looks like I will be in attendance, and by the time this reaches other eyes, my decision will have been made. Last week, I wrote a schematic for Freshman Bingo, with tiers of point categories based on difficulty, though whether I will be brave enough to play remains up for some serious internal debate. I’ve been listening to my lady empowerment playlist on repeat, looking for inspiration, and I have carefully crafted my “No!” list to avoid the worst ramifications.

Is this a time for me to use my second chance and assert my right to creep on some freshman? Or am I relegated to the helmet-wearing ranks of my peers? My lingering inability to make good choices makes me hope that it is the former.

Kissed by Jade? Jog her memory and email her at [email protected].