Being to find a rhythm to the day makes my creative work not my secret identity between bouts of househusbandry and life in general but my default, a less-segmented / compartmentalized way of getting through the day.

Current thinking is that a solution lies somewhere at the intersection of smart bulbs turning off in The Paintshop at certain times (EAT NOW), a defined endtime to the workday, and an increased effort at a.) letting go of my need for repeatability; b.) 🖕ing to guilt over doing what I want to do with my fucking time; and, c.) not getting bent out of shape over life breaking through the walls, those last remnants of a quarter-century past conservatory practice room guilt. Or, you know, me just eating when I'm hungry and doing what I need to do when I need to do it and coming back here to seek refuge in this temple to our lady of thankless calling. Saying fuck it, basically, and trusting myself that my natural rhythm will get shit done.

Have no walls – save for the essentials that keep the structure sound, perhaps? Less a fortress and more an open-air plan?