Life Lint

Life lint. We’re drowning in it. 
(See Lego man visual aid at right.)

These bits and pieces of life that slough off as we go through the daily routine are embarrassing, unpleasant, and annoying. (Among other less appealing objects, Archie discovered a stray Smartie under the couch cushions while I was trying to take pictures. And no, I can’t believe I’m posting a picture of what’s under my couch cushions either.)

No sooner do I clear it up than someone comes home and empties their pockets on the bathroom counter, or the stuff winds up in the laundry.

To the right is a collection of things that have found their way through the washer, and sometimes the dryer. It includes some fairly large items… yes, that is a dead cell phone on the left, and the smiley face was created out of a glop of drywall mud by my son-in-law. I haven’t had the heart to throw it away yet.

To the left is the “extra” drawer on my hubby’s side of the bathroom cabinet. Why do we even have extra drawers and extra closets and extra shelves? Our garages overflow and so do our waistbands. Americans have storage units for their storage units.

Our lives are, as we like to say, FULL. 
But what are they full of?

It’s not just our houses and cars and storage units. It’s our bodies. We overload ourselves with useless food and drink on a daily basis. Sure, it looks good at the moment, tastes good while it’s in our mouths, and then what? Life lint. Or, in the case of the body… life lard. Ew. Our bodies pack it away into designated storage units called fat cells. Just think of thousands of little storage sheds, packed to bursting, strapped to your butt, or your thighs, or your belly.

And just like I’d rather close the drawer, hide the laundry room, and put the cushions back without cleaning up the gunk, I’d rather disguise my fat cells and ignore them than go to all the effort to shrink them down to normal size. (In case you are confused, that “effort” is called exercise, and even after five years of consistent physical activity I STILL have to do battle with my flesh to push play on the DVD and make myself move.)

If all this tangible stuff makes me feel overwhelmed (refer to Lego man photo) what about the spiritual, mental, and emotional LINT I’ve been ignoring? Fragments of conversations that caused emotional pain, misunderstood or twisted pieces of religious doctrine that caused confusion, those “minor” sins that get shoved into a corner instead of brought out and dealt with — gossip, faultfinding, worry. Ouch.

There are, believe it or not, whole web sites dedicated to finding uses for dryer lint. For those of us who just can’t bear to throw anything out, I suppose. My favorite ideas? Draft stoppers, donations for bird nests, or lint spun into yarn. Yeah. Because everybody wants a lint-colored sweater, right? (The stick pins to the right are made from lint. Humans are nothing if not creative.)

Hmm. Isn’t the season of Lent coming up? Maybe I’ll use that 40 days to give up lint, for Lent. It will make moving so much easier! Anyone want to join me?

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3 thoughts on “Life Lint

  1. Andrea says:

    I remember the days of finding legos and tiny objects laying everywhere very fondly. At the time, it was rather annoying, but now that my baby boys are grown…I wish I could go back to those days.
    Blessings, andrea

  2. Niki Turner says:

    Andrea, I think mine aren't far enough past that stage for me to miss it! I'm still sucking up Legos and those dratted Airsoft BBs in the vacuum.

    Eileen, my plan is to purge all the lint during Lent, and hopefully we will have sold our house and be moving into something half the size. It's a forced lint trap!

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