Problem:OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- His parents will be there
- It is the only way out
- It is too long

The doctors told me I would be placed on a seventy-two hour hold for observation. Knowing this was the only way out, I obeyed and diligently signed all the papers. I hated my parents but still felt the inescapable drive to prove to them that I was worth something. I had to show them I wasn't crazy. As the hours passed, I was shown to a blank room with plastic sheets and plastic pillows, which caused me to wonder what kind of distant confused souls had been imprisoned in this sterile place. There were bars on the windows and the only door out of the unit was locked 24/7. I knew my only refuge for the time being would be through the hour a day art therapy class and the smoke breaks I could take at will. They had given me a legal pad after my parents had told them of my affinity for writing. With it I set to work on the flow of words and the river of thoughts, both dark and hopeful that careened through my tired mind. Instead of sleep, I would write. I expressed my vicious frustration for the place and thought constantly of the passing hours, counting them down as they went. Because of this I was thankful for the eight to ten I would use up easily in my escapes to the world behind my eyelids. There I was free and could experience a life unhindered by limitations of ethics or gravity. When I'd awake I'd write what I could remember of my escapes on the obtrusive legal pad. I had the suspicion that the attendants would come in and read my thoughts as I was eating meals or watching TV and I wondered if this was hindering my ability to get out. I wondered what kind of opinions and judgments they were forming about me. I had bared my soul on those pages explaining desperately how the thoughts would not leave even in this place, where it mattered most that they were gone. The fuckers would never leave. Maybe I was crazy. Question: What the narrator thinks about the 72 hour hold? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: It is the only way out

The First of March is my most hated day of the year. Every year, without fail, I feel a little bit depressed on the First of March. I absolutely love summer. I love the hot weather, the skimpy clothes, the summer fruits and the party seasons. I only have good memories of summer - Christmas time, six weeks holidays when in school then three months off whilst at uni. In my eyes, there is not one bad thing about summer. That is why I hate the First of March. Yes, it is still hot. Yes, my summer fruits are still in season and I can still wear my skimpy clothes, but, in my mind, it means that winter is near. The weather is only going to get colder and my favourite time of the year is official over. In an attempt to lift my end of Summer blues I decided to give myself a bright, cheerful manicure. The colour I choose was a luscious purple cream from butter LONDON called Molly-Coddled. It was just about opaque after one coat, just ever so slightly streaky. Two coats, completely opaque and streak free. If you haven't previously heard of butter LONDON, it is a nail polish brand with a massive range of high fashion colours and it's products are formulated without the use of the harmful ingredients like Formaldehyde, Toluene, DBP or Parabens. butter LONDON was the first company to sell 3 Free nail lacquer in the United States. Formaldehyde is one of the biggest nasties that I make a real effort to avoid. I did my PhD in Forensics and spent a lot of time watching autopsies. Once the body parts have been harvested, they are stored in Formaldehyde to be preserved. The Formaldehyde alters the proteins in the tissue to stop them breaking down - fine for the dead, not something I want to use whilst I am alive. It is nasty, nasty stuff. Question: When did the narrator give himself a manicure? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- After she decided to lift her end of summer blues
- After she bought two coats
- Before Fall
After she decided to lift her end of summer blues

Problem: OPTIONS:
- He is relieved
- he is fearful
- not enough information
- he is mad
Q: I have a chronic illness, and so I received quite a few sterling gems in the months between onset and accurate diagnosis. I had one GP let's call him Dr Douche. I promise, it's the kindest way I could describe him. "The jacket means I know things." He came up with wilder and wilder theories as to why I was sick, and kept getting sicker. It should be said beforehand that few of these theories were embodied. He was sure it was something in my ladybrains that was preventing proper function of the rest of me. Dr Douche said so much weird, wild, and just-plain-unbelievable crap over the course of my diagnosis that someday I may create a novel that incorporates it all. But this here has to be the blue ribbon winner. I was describing a symptom to him: every time I got up in the morning, when I first stood, my heart would pound, my heart rate would accelerate, and I'd feel dizzy. After a few probing questions (only in the morning? no, but it's worst in the morning) "Maybe," he said sensitively, "you're afraid." "Of standing?" I asked, just to be sure. "You think I'm afraid of standing up." Maybe he meant there was some kind of existential fear, like, we're all afraid, it's a big old universe out there, and he wanted some comfort and reassurance. Nope. The man genuinely thought I had such a profound fear of verticality, that I was having a near-panic in response to being upright. POTS, folks. It was POTS. Literally THE most common sign/symptom/syndrome of autonomic dysfunction. The most common one. He could've confirmed right there in the office with a poor man's tilt table test, if he knew to Mayo Clinic had to confirm with expensive instruments because he'd never heard of a disease that affects 1/100 teenagers and between 13 million people in the United States! Would've done better with this Doctor. Question: How does the person with autonomic dysfunction feel about being diagnosed correctly? === The answer to the above question is
Answer:
not enough information