The original language of the text is Estonian.

Waking up is simple in its nature. Doesn't require much thought. The problem arises when you have to figure out whether to put on clean clothes and socks before going out and then new ones again after showering and waste a pair, or to put on yesterday's clothes when you wake up, which could feel rather uncomfortable, or not to put on any clothes at all (which could be done, but you wouldn't put on sneakers without socks), or to put on clean clothes on a washed body and then the same clothes again after the shower, or what?
Waking up in the morning hasn't made me feel like a better person yet.
I set the alarm half an hour earlier, thinking it was time for progress. I snoozed for an hour. Emotional exhaustion from life has set in.
Woke up, moved around. Moving myself was nice, washing myself too. But getting back to the desk, it hit me again. Moved my desk outdoors.
A long morning. I took a long walk. Didn't write.
Drank a proper amount of wine yesterday, and today was a total failure.
Everything's still completely shit.
Woke up at 8am without an alarm, went outside more or less straight away and everything was beautiful again. I cried the stress out of myself in the woods which added some new colors to life. I wrote.
I've even woken up without an alarm and started reading a book first thing in the morning. Wrote too, but one-dimensionally. Once I went for a bike ride, but only used the first gear.
Well, it's a bit of a failed experiment to be honest. The only thing I've achieved is waking up in the morning. Although reading a book first thing in the morning is pretty awesome too.
This book is the problem, so interesting and so accessible, of course I'd rather read it under a warm blanket than go outside in the rain? I can still feel yesterday's karaoke, but there's not much time left and I have to have fun.
Time goes by so fast, soon there's no time to be a good morning person.

Outside. Hands in prayer. On one side, an old chapel, where naked men used to make various fuck-moves[1], on the other, a queer Christian looking out of the window and waving. Buddha climbs over the table to me and picks the remains of a chocolate cake from a plate. Spiritual awakening not far off?

Third day here. In PAF's big library, at the table I had once turned sideways. When I was writing, Buddha was sitting on my lap, now I stare around randomly and can't concentrate on anything. Dinner is coming up, which I hope will be another excellent one. It's always such a good feeling when someone whips up a gorgeous meal for you. And if you can really live like that - pay 3€ per dinner, eat leftovers from the night before all day, and at 8pm a new (usually (a very)) delicious dish is served - then why else do I constantly wallow in poverty in my daily life?

Last night I sat at a table near a couple, one of whom, Jonas, had both the same hoodie as me and the same birthday. When I was washing clothes at my mother's house before I came over, she suggested that I take this wolf's hoodie with me, but I thought there was no point. Jonas came to the monastery to work on their femininity, said they wanted to do a show/performance for their birthday. Other than that, they're a singer. They still have some time before their birthday, we won't have it until February.

The woman who I sold bottles of wine to last year and who asked me not to tell anyone is back. For the second time, like me. She said she didn't recognise me because I was hiding behind my hood and a hat last year. Now, she says, I've blossomed. I really didn't take any hooded items with me this time.

It turns out that just "cleaning up on Sunday" triggers flashbacks for many of us to when our parents told us to clean the room. Let's disguise it as a "cleaning performance" and the problem is solved. A fun and practical way to end the week. Ideally, of course, the show starts when you first walk through the front door. You perform yourself into your room and hide there until the snacks run out and you have to sneak down the back stairs to the smaller kitchen. Secret performer. This time I'm the "wind" here. Can't hide like that anymore, like last year.

The first few days were more difficult this year too, but this time I talked to people on the first night. Last year I didn't like this place at first. "Otherwise, I don't give a fuck about this plant, I'm rather alienated by it and its environment." Didn't vibe. I was afraid of everyone and everything. I now tell any newcomer that it can be overwhelming at first. Some are more open-minded and blend right in, some I can still recognise myself in.

A great environment for the hardworking and the lazy. The best procrastinating from writing an article is when you get to tidy the kitchen and put the washing out to dry. Both useful and a loser. Perfect balance. After all, I'm here for the coffee machine as much as it is for me. There's no staff. This is not an Art Hostel. The house is kept up by the people who come here, so the writing is justified. For longevity.

The company seems to be good this year too. New 'winds' have come in and the cooperation so far is smooth. The other people are also nice and it's especially nice that we're all sort of blank sheets. I have absolutely no idea how famous or lame or hated or loved anyone here is in their own circles. Jana just said that she is kind of a public figure in the Netherlands. What does that mean? Like Mallukas or like Sveta Grigorjeva? Lauri Pedaja? Kristiina Ehin? Amazing that I don't know and I never will unless I really care. And I wonder if it's only new to me, since Estonia is such a little pool of people...

The number of people who have some kind of special connection to this house is probably about 10k. I'm just one in (soon) a million. It's like a children's camp where everyone falls in love and discovers things. Only worse, because you can basically live here and come back anytime. Powerful building to withstand the sentimentality of all those people.
Only time is a bit of a bastard within these walls. The last October 'wind' left five days ago, but it feels like an eternity has passed. I arrived 15 days ago, but it feels as if I've only just walked through the door. The days go fast, the time slow. Wormhole. Not like the real world.
Maybe it's because we don't go out much.
saw feelings, didn't see mixed feelings.
I guess feelings was better.
I've heard.
what did these Estonians think of mixed feelings?
eh, that it was cringe I guess. like feelings, but a bit more cringe. no one explicitly said it was shit. they had like mixed feelings.

I only looked at two people today, one of them was a baby. Soon it's dinner, let's see if we can make a record.

Update: broke down and had fun until half way through the night.

Funny how the house and the setting change drastically with each arrival and departure. Even random people affect the atmosphere quite directly. Also on a physical level. I rearranged my room last year and no one has moved it back since. The layout of the dining room changes almost every week. "The doer decides".

The Belgian chicks asked me today if I was going to miss them. I don't know. They're cool and fun, but I hope not. It's weird to be in the house every time after the nice people leave. And then new ones come, you get used to it again and then you yourself leave. Stability is non-existent and which is also stable. Once you get used to it, all days are the same.

That's why it's quite difficult to recommend coming here with full certainty. Every personal experience is so unique, it depends on who's in the house and what vibe you're in. Afterwards, somebody comes on a recommendation and there are only dumb people here, the weather is rainy and you're about to get your period. So it should be recommended to come for a minimum of two weeks. They sure will fall in love like in a children's camp.