I cleaned out the dryer vent awhile back. I've heard it's a good idea for increasing drying rate, reducing costs, and preventing fires. After forty-five minutes, a screwdriver, several vacuumings, and a bit of blood loss, I could see why such cleaning matters. All told, the pile of lint I pulled out was about the same weight as a tank top. Itty-bitty, impossibly fine fibers caked tightly together with coarse yellow fur.
I found myself pondering lint, stuck with lint images in my head. There's got to be a metaphor here, or some other redeeming feature, right? Probably something about otherwise-insignificant things becoming a hazard when not dealt with over time, or colorful variety becoming a dull gray mass when clumped together without design, or gradual disintegration of self as little pieces of the whole become detached just a bit at a time.
Lots of connections to significance in those. Perhaps something about attention to detail, conflict resolution, each person being both unique and connected in community, the distinction between melting pot and stew models of diversity, or loss of integrity.
Of course, it's also pretty nice sometimes to just look at the dryer and think "ooh, clean vent!" and be happy.
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