I've noticed, recently, that the difficult conversations begin with "so":
"So, I've been thinking a lot about this and. . ."
"So, I've read your proposal; it's good, but. . ."
"So, I know you said earlier that. . ."
"So" is, for me, a very difficult word to understand, much less to define. At one level, it acts as a referent in acknowledging preceding conversations, history, what have you. It can excuse and explain -- "and so, you see. . ." -- and it can be positive "it's not so bad, Melissa." Or negative: "that's so bad, Melissa!" And it can just be. A filler of space, a purchaser of time, and a chance to think. The spontaneous, the tall-tales, and the everyday conversations also start with it. So. . .
What does "so" mean to me exactly? I don't aim to find out, really. Just to find the many uses of "so". And to put them to use.
Now, without much further ado, on to something my addled brain's thought up. It's a random thought, I know, but it begins with a "so," so I think it appropriate today.:
So I'm looking through my window at a 5:30 AM, pre-dawn Arlington in the rain, through smeared notes I've written in whiteboard marker on the window from last week's brainstorm. For whatever reason -- I've forgotten -- it's a sequence of numbers.
I've always hated numbers, but I like their smear and how right now, I don't see them but through them, and how from here, they mix with the rain drops on the other side, even if they never touch.
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