Q: Yes, absolutely. And if you are experiencing that right now, I'm so sorry for you, but it gets better. Hear me out. I was once dating this girl from college who showed genuine interest in me and for that and many other reasons, I really liked her. Well, you could say I loved her. We had been together for a week. One day, we went on a trip. It was all fun and games and laughing. I had the best time of my life. We were walking on the beach of a lake during sunset. We were talking and suddenly, I felt her tone getting more and more depressed. At some point, she concluded that "we need to take a break." Trying to understand her arguments for that, the break turned into a breakup. Now, one-week-into-a-relationship-with-awesome-girl me couldn't handle this sudden change of affairs. I spent weeks reliving this day, especially the conversation on the beach, and trying to figure out where it went wrong. I even got into an episode of mania. Having to see her every day in college was torture. It was probably the worst breakup in my life. I seriously considered transferring to another university. Several weeks into the breakup, I decided, with the aid of my friends, that I have to move on. To be honest, I relapsed a lot. One time, I actually sat down with her and said I still have feelings for her. What really helped me to get out of this was the thing I hated the most at that time: taking a break. I avoided her, in real life and on social media, and eventually, I forgot that she even existed. I developed new hobbies and made new friends. Now, I healed properly and we're back to being friends (Yes, it's possible to stay friends with your ex). It was a bad experience to live through indeed, but it really changed me into a more stable, more productive person. In a way, I'm thankful to this girl for who I am today. Stay strong! Question: Why did the author have a manic episode? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- He couldn't figure out what went wrong and why the broke up.
- He was trying to get back together with the girl.
- He immediately found a new girlfriend.
- not enough information

A: He couldn't figure out what went wrong and why the broke up.

input: OPTIONS:
- He treats the residences unfairly.
- He starts lots of fights with the residences.
- not enough information
- He is a responsible and caring Don. Now, answer this question: It's axiomatic that all cultures reserve a special place for food in their daily and social lives. For something as simple as a cuppa joe, we schedule and juggle our time to meet at predetermined locations to share conversation and libation. Meals require even more effort and the social ramifications increase. One is expected to show up on time, sometimes dress to certain standards and bring one or many bottles of wine as a thoughtful gift to the hosts. And of course, the food is just an excuse to get together with friends to enjoy a meal, share stories, to discuss or seduce, to seal an agreement or act as a prelude to a severance of relations (frequently unintentionally). I was first introduced to dining for pleasure as opposed to sustenance while at the University of New Brunswick. I lived in Bridges House, one of the men's residences. The young, eager, bright-eyed students in each residence were kept more or less in check by a Don. Each residence had its share of maniacs and troublemakers who were at university to get some form of education, alcohol poisoning or a social disease; sometimes all three. The Don's job was to act as a mentor and prison warden. Imagine a building housing up to 100 young adult men. It doesn't take much to start a riot. In our case, the Don was Locutus. When we met him, he must have been in his forties but looked to us adolescents to be older than Father Time. He was immediately dubbed 'Grandpa Munster'. With the tender sensitivity of males of our age, we didn't bother to hide this from him and he took it in good humour. In point of fact, Locutus was a great Don; firm when he needed to be and understanding and helpful as appropriate. You crossed this guy at your peril, but he was generally pretty tolerant. Question: What is probably true about Locutus? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: He is a responsible and caring Don.

Problem:OPTIONS:
- one hour
- not enough information
- one minute
- one week

Once, while grating potatoes to make potato pancakes, I had a Proustian moment. I can't lay claim to much in the way of literary knowledge, but I do know that Proust's 'Remembrance of Things Past' was prompted by his biting into a pastry and feeling a sense of overwhelming pleasure with no recognizable cause. In my case, I was instantly transported back to the grandmother's kitchen as she and my mother grated potatoes in order to make 'poutine rapee', also known as 'poutines'. People will immediately flash to the Quebecker ethnic food known by the same name. However, in spite of all the Franco-culinary posturing, this is really only French Fries with gravy and, oh yeah, can I have some cheese curds on that? One etymological source indicates that 'poutine' really means 'mess'. If you come from my part of the country, the Quebecker poutine is just another entry in the long list of dishes that will cause you to keel over from a myocardial infarction while shoveling a foot of snow out of the driveway shortly after you've retired; sometimes before. Nope, poutines as I know them are a different creature entirely. They seem to be more of an Acadian thing and none of my friends had even heard of them, much less eaten a single one. Because of the work involved, my mother only made poutines for special times: Christmas, say or Easter. My mother would borrow this grater that was about two feet long and she and my grandmother would set to work. Generally, they started off with an enormous paper sack of potatoes, about 25 pounds or so (We used to buy potatoes by the cartload and store them in a wooden bin in the basement. Because we were cheap labour, the kids would be sent down to retrieve a few for the family meal. It was creepy to descend into the dank cellar, feel our way through the dim obstacle course formed by my grandfather's thousands of tools and bits of wood and locate the bin. After a time in storage, the eyes on potatoes began to sprout pale tendrils and it didn't take much imagination to visualize all kinds... Question: It probably took this long to make poutines: === The answer to the above question is
****
A:
one hour