In praise of laziness

There's no need to do many things that "must be done."
Himself frets about many health things, but the fact is, most minor medical problems are self-limiting.
My cold is going to make me miserable, run its course and go away whether I go to the doctor or not, whether I try the next new homeopathic remedy, or sip my usual tea, (substituting honey lemon and brandy for my usual milk and aspartame...)
I could wash my kitchen floor, but since a small construction project is going to make it filthy, and require replacing some of the tiles, really, what's the point?
(As some comic said, you dust your house, you're gonna hafta dust it again in a few months...)
This rumination is inspired by the fact that yesterday afternoon, really exhausted from the weekend liturgies, (it was the heat in the loft, more than any actual unusual exertion,) I knew I should have gotten out a ladder and a saw to trim the mulberry-bush-which-is-really-a-tree which had begun to threaten nearby wires and cables, but instead chose to read some articles I'd clipped and make myself a wine punch.
So lazy....
And there, today, the local utility company has sent a truck through the neighborhood, and they're doing it for me.
Maybe I'll have some more punch this afternoon.
An aside, (Scelata, EVERYTHING you write "is an aside." You need a "But I Digress" emoticon,) I remembered an actual unusual exertion.
Because we sang, at my instigation 4 years ago, a song that is not in any of our parish resources, I had to distribute 400 copies of the text to approximately 120 strategic locations about the nave before the first Mass of the weekend, then locate and straighten them up before each subsequent Mass, and then collect them after the last Mass, (and of course, make certain the the priest and deacon had their copies, which were inexplicably lost after several Masses, despite them having slipped them into the hymnals that never left the presider's chair... so they tell me. )
I am going straight to heaven when I die, because as I collected them, when asked if I had to collect them I did not say, no, the same flying monkeys who put them out'll take care of it.
And God bless the 5 year old (and his Mom,) who helped. (She does children's L of the W. Yet another example of the fact that the same 5% of the people do 95% of everything that needs to be done.)
Hmmmmmm.... or does it need to be done?