This spring in compulsory confinement I tried to integrate myself in my house, dissolve within it, become it, not unlike Valie Export's Körperkonfiguration. My prison was filled with warm memories, favorite things. I became one of these things. Each day was similar to the previous one. The daily routine of household chores became the days themselves. "Have to clean. To get food. Cook it. Watch a show. Should I try to paint? Washing your hair every other day. I've got to load the dishwasher. To wash the clothes. Have to cook something, again. Should I start reading a new book? This room needs cleaning." Each day is like each other day, completely. Everything is mixed up.