Replication

REPLICATION; the action or process of reproducing or duplicating

Another writing-prompt inspired musing:

If you had ten copies of yourself today, what would you have them do?

If I had extra copies of myself today, one of them would have been put to work sweeping up the glass shards from the Thursday morning orange juice debacle.  That would have freed up time for third me to pick the small pieces of glass out of my bare feet before they became deeply embedded by the floor cleaning endeavor.

Oh, and my fourth self could have been taking a shower while my fifth self was dressing Daughter.  That way, I wouldn’t have been forced to take Daughter to school in her pajamas because my shower/dressing/make-up/oral hygiene ritual consumed the precious six minutes (military boys have nothing on me) remaining before departure was required.

My sixth self would have been responsible for nagging me about time points and responsibilities so that I didn’t squander precious time putting the final touches on a blog post when I should have been packing Son’s lunch.  The nagging version of me would have prevented the pajama/aroma debate above and allowed the original me time to pen a love note and swap out yesterday’s stagnant water in Son’s lunch box.  Although, then the original me would have been robbed of a personal best in lunch packing time trials – PBJ, veggie booty and raisins in sealed Tupperware and zipped robot lunch box in roughly 46 seconds.

My seventh self would have returned the library books and overdue video while my eighth self finalized the minutes from a meeting that occurred ten days ago as well as the January invoices I still haven’t mailed.

The ninth me would have been home doing laundry so that Son had at least one pair of clean underwear.  Alternatively, the ninth me could have found a more convincing way to explain the importance of flexibility to Son.  Or, to explain the “plan b” attire sometimes required when there are seven loads of laundry on the basement floor.  Or, highlighted the adequacy of the clean blue and orange underwear in his drawer that – while admittedly not the “tighty-whities” he prefers – are technically still clean underwear.

The tenth me would have been working to cross off items from my “when I get a moment” list.   Checking in on Daughter’s preschool wait-list position for the fall,  finding the friend’s school registration receipt that the original me managed to misplace, penning a thoughtful letter to grandma, making another batch of lunch box cookies for the freezer, refilling the chicken food container, planning this year’s garden rotation, scheduling dental appointments…

The eleventh me would have been reading the 402 pages remaining in the book I need to be prepared to discuss on Sunday.  You know, the book for the second book club that the original me thought was a good idea.  The one where I was hoping to make a great first impression rather than being forced to channel the high-school version of myself that mastered the art of drafting excellent essays on books I never read.

The twelfth me…What’s that you say?  I only get ten?  But I haven’t told you about the versions of me that would be sleeping or exercising or…

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