A Matter of Choice

I held my palms out to the heat of the fireplace as I noticed something on the hearth… ten little creatures looking up at me.
“We’re your helpers,” announced one of them from the right row of five.
“Or your hinderers,” announced the other line leader of a scraggly crew on the left.
“It’s your choice,” said a second one from the statelier group.
Hmmm…I thought. This is like those 50’s TV Programs with the angel on one shoulder and the demon on the other. This is really tough!
“What do you intend to help me with?” I asked the helpers.
The third elemental said, “We’ll see to it you get your housework done and the meals on time and that you keep your appointments and exercise.”
That doesn’t sound like much fun, I thought.
“What about you?” I asked the more motley crew.
“We’ll see to it that you procrastinate,” said the second troll, “and that you go around carrying grudges, that you neglect your creative work, are so late that you fall down running to your appointments, or that you become a workaholic, putting people last, that you get into conflicts with others, and unconsciously become inconsiderate to the most important people in your life.”
That sounds even worse, I thought. The price I’d pay would be terrible, lining up with these guys.
“Okay,” I replied, “I choose you five on the right to be my helpers.”
“Yes, but…” said the fourth helper.
“But what?”
“It’s not as if we come free. This will cost you, too.”
“In what way?”
The fourth helper piped up, “You have to be willing and have a ‘yes, let’s’ attitude, a cooperative spirit. We can only help you if you do your part.”
“But,” the fifth helper said, “the consequences from the pirates on the left are severe if you don’t!”
“But,” I replied, “I didn’t ask to be born, to do all this work!”
“Neither did anybody else,” said the first elf.
The third demon said, “Just because you’re born doesn’t mean you’re required to do all this stuff. Take it easy, get up, forget breakfast, and turn on the TV, watch soaps, pour yourself a beer…”
“Yeah,” said the fourth demon, “all you have to do is lie there, drinking beer, eating potato chips, and getting fat. Who cares if you ever amount to anything? Who cares if you write a poem and touch somebody’s heart?”
“Wouldn’t it be fun?” said the fifth demon, “to just sit around playing solitaire and ordering a pizza night after night? Aaah…the Good Life!”
My mouth watered, thinking about that pizza and savoring the hops in the beer, going brain dead in front of the TV, watching my bones deteriorate, due to lack of exercise.
The last two thoughts jarred me out of my daydream coma.
“Okay, guys, you win,” I told the five helpful servants. “You’re the ones I choose.”
All five became a chorus. “We don’t work well as last resort… You’ll do this with enthusiasm?”
“Willingly and enthusiastically,” I said, “and even when I’m not, I’ll go your route anyway, and that will create the excitement and the fun.”
The trolls marched off dejectedly; their intentions were to spoil the food in the refrigerator, to make the table butter rancid, and to jump into the sugar bowl in order to create little squirming bugs.
“Go ahead,” I avowed, addressing the departing trolls, “I’ll just clean up the mess. You won’t like that I even lift a finger, do you, because you’re not my friends.”
The good fairies giggled together and flew with gossamer wings to the windowsill.
“We’re here when you need us,” they waved.
“Thanks, guys,” I responded, “I’ll be calling on you soon.”