Whatever is bothering you, the solution is in your laundry.

Resolve in detergent. Rectification in dryer lint.

If the devil finds work for idle hands, let clothing busy your fingers. Let repetitive, mindless tasks carry you into mindfulness. Mindfulness thrives in the mindless.

Laundry feels good. Carrying a heavy bag. Separating tolerant fibers from delicate. Watching the machine do its work. Foaming. Swishing and swashing. Agitating. Random and chaotic, but harmonized in its goal. Soaking, rinsing, spinning. Speed blends colors. Breaks bonds between water and cotton, polyester, linen, wool. A collective blob of reds, greens, blues, yellows, followed by a click, buzz or ding.

We find more lethargy in the dryer and its sound. Not a wirrhh but a whomm. Not quite enough centrifugal force to hold off collapse at the drum’s peak. Radiant heat seeps through its porthole.

This machine feels friendlier than the washer. Acting at a slower pace. Open the door anytime. Access.

Folding must be the place. Ordering, pairing, organizing, stacking. You recall folding sweatshirts at the college bookstore, scolded for an errant crease. That was work; this is progress.

Motions move mechanical, requiring little thought. Attention shifts inward, freed now from clutter. Thoughts and clothes collect in sync. Some order — temporary as it may be — found.

Do stuff with your hands. See a physical product of your labor. Does the head good.

If you don’t fold your clothes, they’ll be wrinkled when you wear them.

If you don’t fold your clothes, they’ll be wrinkled when you wear them.