"Please remember me to myself!" When sliding toward mania in 2016, I begged this of my therapist. He cocked his head. "What do you mean?" I had no ideaon a conscious levelwhat I was asking for, just that I felt in a desperate sense that the self I knew was slipping away. An inability to recognize myself either in my writing or in reflecting upon my own actions was taking over. And then? I didn't care. I wanted to kiss girls. Which is finejust not something I ordinarily do. I wanted to drink, smoke. Again, finebut not something I ordinarily do. "Do I seemokay?" I asked a colleague at work. A woman I barely knew. Insanely, I thought that since she worked with disabled students, many of whom struggled with mental illness, she would know mania when she saw it. This was a rather foolish assumptionespecially since she's an educator, not a psychiatrist, especially with how skilled I am at wearing the mask of calm, the face of sanity. "You seem great, Julie. Cheery. Professional as always." I let her reassurance placate me. Wanted to be placated. Yet, within months I lost my job. And not only that, but a chance at a scholarship, two really important long term friendshipsrelationships I'd enjoyed since high school. I was hospitalized three times between September and February. I lost my ability to trust myself, lost my mind. It is now a little over two years since I first felt that sliding. Twenty-six months since I knew that somewhere in the deepest parts of who I am, I was slipping. Nine seasons since I begged Dr. Poe, "Remember me to myself!" I'm still recuperating. Yes. I have felt like I wasn't me. How did Julie feel about losing her job? A. She felt excited about new opportunities. B. not enough information C. She felt relieved. D. She felt anxious and upset.
D

In this confessional age, TV, radio and print rely for much of their content on the sad stories of those 'victims' of life. The story goes something like this: There is the future 'victim' getting on with their quotidian activities and whoosh, they are whisked into a life of gambling, drugs, sex or junk food addiction. After years of struggle, they finally find redemption and become good people again. As in any good tale of redemption, there has to be a 'reason' for why our 'victim' fell off the rails. Take your pick: they were molested, their parents ran away from home, they were denied desserts except on Sundays. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my stony face. How can you not be moved by tales such as these. What is the precipitating cause of the misery in my life? Well, my mother was French and my father was English. And to make things worse, I was brought up Catholic! Yes folks, in today's shorthand of grievance, I'm a half-breed straddling Canada's great language divide and a religious bigot. My hometown was a mixture of French and English-speaking people and the results of their miscenagation. You could never tell by someone's last name who spoke your language (For instance, my good friend P. Arsenault spoke the Queen's English and my cousin Sean Doyle wouldn't have recognized an Oxford Dictionary if you shoved up his nose). As children, we were segregated by language; all the French-speaking kids went to one side of the school where they spoke French all the time. I was fortunate enough to be sent to the English side of the school and got to speak my native tongue. My parents decided my brother and sister wouldn't be quite so lucky. In an effort to bridge the great language divide, they both spent six years learning everything in French and mingling with the French people (My parents did this because it was the firm belief of all forward-thinking families that whatever road you took would be much smoother if you could speak both of Canada's official languages. As it turns out for my siblings and... who is the author A. an ironworker B. not enough information C. a nobleman D. a clocksmith
B

Q: Regular readers of Beauty Best Friend will know that wherever possible I use organic bodycare products, and that I simply adore the organic brand Botanicals. A British brand whose aim is to create products 'which are as close to nature as possible', their bodycare and skincare is simply second to none and they're certified by The Soil Association. Over the past couple of years I've tried several of their products including my favourite Cleansing Melt and I haven't found anything that I don't like yet! This month I've been trying their Deep Peace Aromatic Body Oil which arrived with me just at the right time my husband had man flu, I had a cold and I was looking after our 16 month old toddler alone. Deep Peace was just what my body was craving! I was sent a small glass bottle of the oil to try, but the full size product is a larger 100ml pump bottle (it also comes in 200ml and 1 litre bottles too). The directions say you can use it in two ways, either massage it into shoulders, neck and arms before bed, or apply it all over the body after batheing. After a bath or shower is the best time I feel as the skin is damp and warm and the Deep Peace oil helps lock moisture into the skin and the warmth helps the scent to lift. This Aromatic Massage Oil is 99% organic and the ingredients include Lavender, Rose Geranium and Orange Peel oils. The fragrance is very subtle and perfect if you don't like products that smell overpowering. It's a bit 'planty', I think it's the scent of the Rose Geranium that comes through the most, and personally I don't absolutely love the fragrance, but it's pleasant enough and it does help the head to feel calmed (even when nursing a husband with man flu!). Where did the author discuss her experiences using Botancials products? A. wherever possible B. not enough information C. Beauty Best Friend D. The Soil Association
A: C

*Question*
One time I was walking my puppy (profile pic) who was then around 5 months, with my mum and grandma. By the time we were about to reach our house, we spot two dogs, a German Shepherd and a Husky, both male, on the other side of the street sniffing around with no owner in sight. I was ready to hightail out of there with my dog, but I knew if I ran they would chase, so we formed a wall in front of her to hide her. Of course she decides to stick out her head and start barking. Those two dogs whipped their heads so fast and came running towards us to see her. Since she is a puppy she has zero impulse control and starts throwing herself at them, at their backs, face, plus the fact that she doesn't like being sniffed at her rear (which they are trying very hard to get to). Here I am nervously sweet talking to them, my voice trembling saying good boys. My grandma is her despair grabs the GS's neck, and his hair bristled and growled for a second before turning back to our pup. At this point my baby girl is sitting down with her tail tucked close, ears flattened, and head down. I thought "Dear Lord someone's losing a limb today." When suddenly this car comes pulling up and this man comes out with a leash, the owner. He practically had to wrestle the GS into the car. A woman in a pickup truck comes next trying to get the husky but he ran away again, but my mom didn't care, she scooped up our pup and ran, the leash trailing behind her, and even my grandma who has troubles in her knees speed walked. My mom would later laugh at me because I became so pale and because I tried to baby talk a dog to leave us alone. After the end of this story, the women with the puppy will probably A. not enough information B. Be happy about the almost attack C. Be more cautious when walking their dog D. Let their dog run off leash
**Answer**
C