do walnuts grow on trees?

it's so painfully tiring, answering questions to which answers don't exist, and stringing words into sentences when there is absolutely nothing you wish to say. i find it more boring to be in the company of those i've adored in the past, than to be on my own, at my own pace, not required to react or conjure up a jumble of excited phrases and facial expressions in response to something that means about as much to me as a bag of sesame seeds do. and the best (or worst) part is that there doesn't even seem to the slightest hint of recognition that nothing is genuine anymore, like i've wallpapered over my old self with patterns of wildflowers and elephants and jellybeans, and people walk in and out of the room, failing all the while to notice what used to lie only millimetres below.

and on top of that, why are people so quick to attribute anything out of the ordinary (and what is ordinary, anyhow?) to something being wrong? what's wrong with not being one's usual self, and moreover, what even constitutes as normal? there isn't a single person who can sift through all your moods and phases and moments to be able to decide what is, and isn't, your ordinary self. if i were to go all hardcore physics on you (to the extent my limited brain capacity allows) i'd say that everyone is simply in constant reaction to forces being placed upon them, willingly and knowingly or not, and when there is nothing external for you to respond to, is that your usual self? when nothing is wrong, everyone hopes that there is, so there is something to fix. but then things are much easier to handle when you tell yourself that #1 you don't give a ring toss and #2 that even if you did, it would neither mean nor change a thing. but you run the risk of giving up other things too, like the ability to feel excited or even vaguely amused. and can you really ever tell yourself anything? no, because you refuse to ever listen. you think you know better (than your other self, might i add) and when you find yourself in over your ignorant, self-absorbed head, you wish you'd listened - to yourself.

and it's all so bothersome, having people all around you searching for the meaning of life just to have something to search for, because they can't deal with the prospect of there being no meaning, and then they're the ones to look at you in horror, like not only have you grown horns, but a trunk and a tail and whiskers too, when you suggest that maybe (and let's face it, probably) there is no meaning, and we're all just products of an empty box of condoms.