I am faced with that proverbial Fork and know not, the path to tread. The road less trodden by Robert Frost offers less hope, albeit a greater sense of adventure and uncertainty, but the beaten track comes with a handicap that is too enticing to ignore.
Should I take up the nocturnal assignment of talking to strangers in another hemisphere, with an assumed identity, in the august company of colleagues half my age? Or should I teach German to elementary and secondary school children from 8 AM?
The anathema of wilful deception, in the first instance, is bound to condemn my soul to eternal damnation. But, I can afford a slightly better lifestyle that allows me to have a chicken soup every 3 weeks and maybe a Kheema Paav on full moon nights. I am committed to remain celibate for life, if I fail to live up to the expectations of my estranged girlfriend and the wound on my back shows no signs of healing. The unrelenting cough, not responding to the expectorants, is choking my pursuit of normal health. The wrath of the Lochness monster is transcends the boundaries of my simple narrative.
Please advice
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