Moving can either be out of necessity or an act of desire. Whatever the case, moving rarely comes at a convenient time and involves so many variables that it is difficult to exhale until all of the documents are signed. Even then, that point in the process instantaneously starts a whole new chapter in the book of moving. No matter how long it takes to sell (or not sell) your previous home, whether you’re able to find your dream kitchen or settle for less, if you’re moving down the street, across the country, or around the world, the act of moving can be completely overwhelming. Long story short: Moving is a process. In the midst of all the uncertainties, there are a few ways to stay organized while moving. This short list is meant to guide you through steps to keep you on track during a stressful time. The largest piece of advice I can give you is to start by decluttering your current living space. Having less to deal with will help you feel more in control of the situation. Finding a realtor that you trust and feel comfortable working with will put your mind at ease (most of the time) about the process of listing your house and finding a buyer. Let your realtor do the work for you so you can concentrate on keeping your home “show ready” and begin to look at options on the other side of the move, like where you’ll be working, spending your time, and researching schools or neighborhoods. Make a list of people you’ll need to update contact information with once you leave. This should include any and all businesses you frequent or subscribe to, like pest control services, lawn maintenance, even all of your neighborhood loyal buyer programs you participate in. Do not overlook your banks, investment companies, retirement funds, healthcare providers for you and your family members, and even you pets. And, of course, family and friends. Question: Who is the author? Options:  A. a contractor  B. a realtor  C. not enough information  D. a home builder  === The correct answer is
C

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Dark meat in the can--brown, oily, and flecked with mucus--gave off a repellent, fishy smell, and the taste of it rose in his throat, putrid and bitter, like something from a dead man's stomach. George Jordan sat on the kitchen floor and vomited, then pushed himself away from the shining pool, which looked very much like what remained in the can. He thought, No, this won't do: I have wires in my head, and they make me eat cat food. The snake likes cat food He needed help but know there was little point in calling the Air Force. He'd tried them, and there was no way they were going to admit responsibility for the monster in his head. What George called the snake, the Air Force called Effective Human Interface Technology and didn't want to hear about any postdischarge problems with it. They had their own problems with congressional committees investigating "the conduct of the war in Thailand." He lay for a while with his cheek on the cold linoleum, got up and rinsed his mouth in the sink, then stuck his head under the faucet and ran cold water over it, thinking, Call the goddamned multicomp, then call SenTrax and say, "Is it true you can do something about this incubus that wants to take possession of my soul?" And if they ask you, "What's your problem?" you say "cat food," and maybe they'll say, "Hell, it just wants to take possession of your lunch" A chair covered in brown corduroy stood in the middle of the barren living room, a white telephone on the floor beside it, a television flat against the opposite waIl--that was the whole thing, what might have been home, if it weren't for the snake. He picked up the phone, called up the directory on its screen, and keyed TELECOM SENTRAX. Question: George thinks that: Options:  A. the Air Force will help him.  B. the thing is his head is controlling his actions.  C. not enough information  D. cat food is good to eat.  === The correct answer is
(Answer)
B

Question: I showed up at the address on Columbine's invitation just before eleven; it was a converted warehouse in an industrial zone on the city's north side. Since it was a Saturday night, everything else was empty for miles. The parking lot was filled with sports cars, hybrids, and shiny suburban tanks. The door facing the parking lot was open, spilling out muted lights and the din of yuppie chatter. It cast a somewhat foreboding aura over the entrance. The first thing I noticed as I approached was the beefy refrigerator in a rented tux blocking the doorway. The second thing was the surveillance camera perched on the wall above his head. I had stopped home and changed first, so I was sure I was dressed mostly appropriately for some rich faux-hipster art party - charcoal gray pinstripe jacket over a TV on the Radio t-shirt, skinny cuffed jeans, Docs, and a black fedora. I certainly didn't look any worse than the other idiots I saw filing in and out of the door. I even had an invitation. So I was fairly confident I'd be able to gain admission to this thing without incident. "No, absolutely not," the doorman said, pressing a meaty palm into my chest. "I was invited!" I said, exasperated. "I have documentation." I waved the rave card in front of his face. "No dice." I stepped aside to let a couple of aging goths through the door and wondered for a moment if the doorman somehow knew who I was. Then I noticed the ear piece he was wearing and my eyes darted back to the surveillance camera. "Motherfucker," I spat and raised both arms to flip off the camera. I didn't know it at the time, but at that moment Dylan Maxwell was sitting in front of a wall of monitors, laughing his ass off. Question: Who was sitting infront of surveillance monitors? Options:  A. the doorman  B. not enough information  C. Dylan Maxwell  D. the goths  === The correct answer is
Answer:
C