Problem: OPTIONS:
- happy
- not enough information
- guilty, remorseful and sad
- shocked and proud
Q: Yes, and I am not proud of it, but grief makes you do some really stupid things. My wife walked out of our 9 year marriage and into relationship on the same day with a (so-called) friend of mine that I had known for 25 years. I was completely blindsided and in shock. I was devastated, I was lost, and I was grieving terribly. I had not only lost my wife, but I had also lost my best friend (her, not the asshole so-called friend), and her family. While I was not particularly close to her family (most did not like me according to my ex-wife) I did care about them and they were are part of my life. I absolutely loved her sister and always enjoyed hanging out with her, as well as one of her cousins. Luckily they are both still friends with me on FB so I get to keep in touch. Anyway, I am not proud of the fact that I created a fake FB account to check her page and even talked to her through IM's. I thought that if I could just talk to her, even if not as me, that I would be okay. However, seeing photos of her with someone else just about broke me. It was a very stupid thing to do and only made matters worse. One day I forgot to block my location and she figured out it was me. I felt so stupid, but I had loved her so much that I needed her in my life. She called me out on it. I was busted. I was the grieving idiot that did not want to give up. She just married that person 2 weeks ago, and honestly.I just want her to be happy. I miss her, I always will, and in hindsight, I don't know why she stayed with me as long as she did. I was not an easy person to love. Question: After reflecting on this situation, the writer probably feels: === The answer to the above question is
Answer: guilty, remorseful and sad

Problem:OPTIONS:
- he wanted to see if it would work
- not enough information
- to prove he could
- because it was a medical marvel

My dearest Lily, Forgive me. I would be with you now, rather than closeted in my study, but I do not wish you or our children to witness my demise. I love you. I tell you now, so that you will know that my last thought was of you. I have placed my affairs in order -- do not fear, my love, you will be well provided for -- all that is required of my remaining time is to explain the events which have led to my death. Though the scene will seem so similar to my elder brother's death, I would not wish you to think I had taken my own life in the manner in which Edmund took his. When Dr V came to see me some weeks ago, he brought with him the bottle of strychnine that now sits empty upon my desk. He was in high spirits, because his latest alchemical experiment had been a success, and brought the strychnine in order to demonstrate the efficacy of his elixir. In truth, his very presence could be considered proof, since he had been dead earlier that morning, but, as I had not witnessed his revival, he wished me to see the results first hand. At his request, I summoned the chambermaid, while he prepared a syringe of strychnine. I thought he would ask her to procure a hen or some such thing for use in his demonstration however, when she arrived, Dr V-- plunged the syringe into her arm with no warning. I leapt from my chair, but before I could do more than cross the room, the strychnine took effect with results that horrified me. Even though I had complete confidence in Dr V's elixir, I could not restrain a cry of dismay as the chambermaid's head tilted back in a sudden convulsion. Her lips tightened, giving her the appearance of laughter and she dropped to her knees, clawing at her throat. Her back arched, pitching her over so that she lay with only her head and heels touching the carpet. Question: why did the author do this? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: to prove he could

input: OPTIONS:
- Her favorite activity is shopping.
- She loves to swim.
- She enjoys painting.
- not enough information Now, answer this question: "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. Question: What does Julie enjoy doing in her free time? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output:
not enough information