Copies of Me

It was a long day’s work. My muscles felt like those of a man making steel from sunup to sundown. And my back ached like I had lugged a ton of that steel. I sighed. I lay down next to my husband. (He sleeps, snoring.) I fantasize about how much easier my days would be if I could “create an organism that is the exact genetic copy” of me. I could send one of “me” to a lecture about a youth violence systems mapping project. While another “me” moderates two 90-minute focus groups with girls that deal with violence prevention. As another “me” facilitates a youth policy budget task force meeting. Whereas the true “me” spends time meeting with God. I shut my eyes and head toward sleep, anticipating another day’s schedule so busy that I assign no time for God.
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