I suspect I'm a terrible cynic

This past semester, I've been taking Neoclassic and Romantic British Literature.  Again.  When I transferred to Weber from BYU, they declined to accept it, for whatever esoteric reason colleges have for doing anything.  Irrelevant. 

The point is that my professor--whose name I can't spell--has this thing about "commonplace books."  Basically, it's a little notebook you carry around and write little thoughts and observations in.  I occasionally sketch in mine, too, because it's a lot more portable than the traditional sketchbook. 

This is not a new concept to me.  When I was in my early teens I carted notebooks around with me all the time, and wrote story ideas and character sketches in them.  I filled a lot of notebooks that way.  This time, though, it's much more loose- more about what is going on in my own head than trying to figure out the contents of a fictional character's.

Thus far, I have learned a few things about myself.  I'm kind of misanthropic- I'm convinced that the vast majority of people in this world are grubby, obnoxious beings who take little thought for others or for the future, because the human animal isn't very nice.  Human beings are great, but evidently I feel that actually being a "human being" takes effort.  I'm not sure I succeed most days.

Also, I am very visual, but in a weird roundabout way.  I will write down descriptions of images that pop into my head, or how I feel about what I see, especially color.  I love rich, intense color, so much so I almost find it intoxicating.  I painted a purple accent wall in my daughter's room and for a week afterward every time I saw it I wanted to swim in the color.

I still try to figure out fictional characters, of course.  I also spend a lot of time thinking about my kids' development, which I suppose is normal for a mother of small children.  And I criticize other people for saying or doing stupid things.  Like using the word "conversate".  (twitch)

I had a point when I started writing this.  Honest.  Now I'm just lost in the image of swimming through paint chips.