She has sought for a partner for a long time. Her friends thinks she is too picky and maybe she is and with what's left with her study at the university and work at the lab going out with Jim and Jacks who scraped their persona from rom-coms and internet prophets has turned out to be really unfruitful. She was in the verge of giving up. The hope that she could find someone to share the mental burden of drudgery and pressure of keeping up at the university, someone to pick up the trash once in a while and have a conversation or two about little things and death and human condition in a plane without pretension and ego getting in the way got her going all these years. Maybe she is too picky. She felt the pangs of hopelessness as it emerged from memories of her disappointments and failings from her past. She felt that trying to find a partner has been more work than the perceived benefits future had to offer if she continues to go out. There is a probability, but that's the thing about probability. It might be not there at all. She had been entertaining one idea in her core that felt right against all her good judgements. To clone herself. Who else would resonate more with her than herself? Who else would take turn take out the garbage? Who else would be composed in their body and soul more similar to her than her clone? She thought of all the what ifs and then grabbed her credit card. She needs to buy a sterilized mixing chamber.
