The ABCs of OCD

A quick confession: Whenever I set the volume on a television, the numbers on the setting have to be a multiple of four. It's a little compulsion that started when I was a child and continued when I arrived on campus. My seven freshman-year suitemates noticed my eccentricity early in the year, as we huddled around our tiny television for a "Grey's Anatomy" marathon. The mocking began: They dared me to set it at 23, then set it themselves and waited for me to change it. I had to restrain myself from leaping for the remote.

In time, it became clear that I was not the only member of our Wilson College suite with an odd quirk. After one particularly long night of talking about nothing, we began to search for the words to describe our respective brands of crazy. After many caffeinated beverages, we settled on Compulsive (me), Quirky, Obsessive, Needy, Zany, Odd and Screwy, and scrawled our new names on a neon-green Post-It. Zany dances in her underwear and bra (though she does not always lower the shades of our large, first-floor window beforehand) and fears cilantro and onions; Quirky tends to eat seaweed in bed. It should be noted that food-related phobias are apparently in vogue these days; one friend of mine shudders at the sight of bagels, while another "really, really hates" oranges. Obsessive not only maintains an immaculate closet, with perfectly folded T-shirts sorted by color, but also has an affinity for playing the same song over, and over, and over. U2's "With or Without You" was tolerable (though temporarily ruined after a week on repeat), but a techno version of "Take Me Home, Country Roads" nearly killed me. From her bed, Needy would whine in a high, excessively drawn-out voice anytime she needed one of us. From Odd's lovely single often came laughter, though she was the only one in there. Only one suitemate defied amateur psychological categorization, making us Sane One and the Seven Nuts.

Even at my childhood summer camp, I had never lived with so many girls in such an incredibly small space. It wasn't always easy, but it was certainly amusing. In spite of the abuse that occurred during episodes of "Grey's Anatomy" (no talking allowed, a rule that Screwy enforced physically on occasion) and the adverse effect all this nuttiness undoubtedly had on my GPA, I miss my noisy and oh-so-humble freshman abode. Quite simply, we balanced each other out and never lacked something to talk about.

Living in close proximity to seven other girls also confirmed that I wasn't the only weird one in this new school, new home, new life. I would imagine that within every seemingly collected Princeton student's mind lay a bizarre phobia or habit or obsession, requiring only a tight living space to be discovered. And on some level, we all need to have a strange "thing." When we live in such an intense environment, where competition is encouraged on every level and excellence is expected — perhaps we all need to funnel our neuroses and anxieties into something.

Most of us have spent our lives at the top in the classroom, on the field, in our homes and with our friends. Coming to Princeton forces us to question the formerly unshakeable belief that, with effort and dedication, we can succeed. Most of us find our way, quirks intact, with time. But I hope that those who don't are fortunate enough to have seven wacky and loveable roommates to help them out. Sarah Hogarty is a sophomore from Houston, Tx. She can be reached at shogarty@princeton.edu.