
The worse of the two options facing you is the possiblity of finding yourself unable to move due to being paralysed by a dark wave of hideous sourceless guilt and indecision so whine-ridden that they've named both a vintage and a breed of horse after it!

The better is to be eaten by a gigantic space worm that may grow you out through its skin to become either a Tree (mind all you parts, or you could end up in option one again), or an ineffable, amoral immortal with a silly name like Tiffin or Castanets.
Run, I say!

THOOLAH!
u.