my just waking up from weak nap precludes me from coming up with clever title

i just woke up from a hazy nap. im at work, standing in the middle of the palindromic paradox that is my epic work day. basically, i am getting paid to, amongst other things, rest and recuperate from my 3 week old 'i got in a car accident' incident. my main responsibility this long weekend as 'communications manager' (a clever 'get well' from boss man/woman [uh, they be two people, one sex apiece] in the form of fancifide title) is to hand out fresh radios to the workers in the morning and take them back stale at night. this keeps me busy for approx 2.75 hours in the morning and 2.75 hours in the evening. the middle, my oyster.
what does one do with said oyster? i read, walk around, nap, check internet. nap again. listen to the mixed bag sounds coming in from the ajar windows that cast minimal light in the room that adjoins the closet i am stationed in.
my closet has a closet. it is brightly lit with bare fluorescence and teeming with radio chargers. it is positioned directly behind me, half the size of the main closet. afront: an awkwardly long hallway. i can see people coming from minutes away. what looks like me staring them down is actually my attempt to get my eyes to readjust to not still helvetica sitting on eggshell pages in my lap, trying to figure out if i recognize the person as they walk up, trying to remember what radio they are assigned, then willing them to take a sharp left steps before my desk and into the main office so that i can continue reading/interneting/spacing out in radioinactive peace.
and when i tire of that, i take a break from my closet to attempt horizontal respite in the smaller closet that is off the main office. i go to a closet to take a break from my closet. and me sans my homies to make 'it's ok cuz we be gay too' gay jokes. . .
in the closet, (___ ___ ______ !) i herded together an ikea cushion bed on the floor behind the ikea frame and settled down for some fully clothed resting of my eyes. next to me, leaned up against the wall and extending beyond my full frame by .5 feet in either direction, lay several mirrors. this room is dark but not pitch. i look over and i am laying down with myself.
did you ever play that dare in middle school, where you close yourself in the bathroom with some lit candles, stare at yourself in the mirror and recite some quasi religious incantation, the result of which the gift of some kind of apparition of the bloody mary variety? i recall several giddy half assed attempts at friends houses none of which resulted in anything more than the heebee geebees. a limp scratch at the mild rash called perfectly normal adolescent morbid curiosity.
anyways. i have since not dedicated much time/energy into staring at myself in a dimly lit room and i was certainly not gonna start today. tho i am a little curious as to what would happen. . .