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Holding things

Text Mags anything you need off your mind and she holds it. No app, no form, no format — your words are the entry.

• “my list” reads back everything open. Tasks come numbered; events, places and stray sparks are listed alongside.
• She sorts what you send onto shelves — things to do, things coming up, places worth remembering, shiny things you want back later — and you can move anything by saying so: “that’s an event”.
• A big thing can carry steps under it. Finish the big thing and the steps close with it.

Big things break themselves down

The hardest part of a big task is starting it. Hand Mags something daunting — the taxes, a letter to draft, a room to sort out — and she splits it into a few concrete steps on her own, the first one small enough to start in two minutes. Simple errands stay whole; nobody needs “call the pharmacy” in three parts.

• The steps live under the task — one line on your list, folded on the dashboard with a “steps inside” chip — and “done” with any step closes just that step. Finish the big thing and they all close with it.
• You can also ask for it in as many words — “break it down”, “with subtasks” — about anything, big or small.

Reminders and times

Name a time and it is kept exactly. Your times are yours: a reminder you set for 10pm arrives at 10pm, whatever her quiet hours are doing.

• A bare time (“5pm”) gets a question, not a guess — she asks what the time is for before anything is set.
• If a new time lands on something you already hold, nothing is saved until you decide: she flags it and asks — keep both, or swap it in?
• “Push it to later” and “move it to Friday” both work in plain words, on whatever she just asked about or whatever you name.

Finishing and dropping

Say a thing is done and it closes, named back to you so you can see the right one went. Dropping is an equal answer — never a failure.

• Your words don’t need to match the list — the words themselves find the item, in any order.
• After she reads your list back, the printed numbers work: “done 2”, “remove 1 2”, “drop 4”.
• She never closes a guess. If it isn’t clear which one you mean, she asks — and “never mind” never deletes anything.

Handing her bigger work

Some things aren’t one line — a trip to pack for, a paper to break down, a plumber to find. Hand it over and the finished piece comes back as a link: a page you can keep, tick through, and reopen any time.

• Checklists, shortlists with real options, research packets with a plan in order, and study schedules that arrive as sessions — ask in your own words.
• If she needs one thing from you first, she asks one question and waits — the work starts the moment you answer.
• Every piece you’ve handed her is on the dashboard under She’s on it, with where it stands and a button to open the finished page.
• “Any update on the packing list?” always gets a straight answer — asking about work never starts a second copy of it.

Your day, one place

“my day” sends a link to a single page with today on it — what’s held, what’s timed, what’s coming. When a list is too long for texts, she sends what fits and puts the whole thing on the page.

• Pages ask a six-digit code the first time a new browser opens one — the link alone is never the key to your day.

Photos of flyers and papers

Text a picture of the flyer, the permission slip, the appointment card. She reads it, holds the thing with its date, and confirms what she read back to you.

• The picture itself is read once and deleted — it is never stored.
• A caption rides along: “remind me about this Friday morning” sets the time; “also grab milk” is held as its own thing.
• If the flyer’s time collides with something you already hold, she flags it and asks before anything is set — same as a typed time.

The morning note

Once she’s holding a few things for you, a short note arrives each morning naming up to three of them and calling that the whole day — everything else keeps. It starts on its own; the first one tells you how to stop them, and one phrase does it, forever.

• It lands when your quiet hours end, and reads what she holds that morning — finish something overnight and it’s not on the note.
• Go quiet on it for a couple of mornings and she offers to stop; stay quiet and she steps back to one a week rather than pressing on daily. “no more mornings” ends them outright, any time.
• It never counts what you’re carrying. Names, not numbers.

Quiet hours

By default she stays quiet overnight. Anything she chooses to send — a nudge, a follow-up — waits for morning. Anything you caused — a reminder you set, work you asked for — comes through when it’s due.

• Change them any time in your own words. The line never moves: your schedule outranks her politeness, and her nudges wait for daylight.

When today is too much

Tell her it’s a lot — in whatever words are yours — and she quietly gets lighter: softer replies, fewer touches, nothing lost. Deliberately, she won’t make a thing of it; there is no announcement and no score kept. Everything she was holding is still held, and saying you’re good brings the usual rhythm back.

Your account, your data

Billing lives on the dashboard and in the thread, with pause and cancel side by side — leaving is two texts, no tricks. Your data is yours: ask for an export and it arrives; say “delete everything” and, after one confirmation, it all goes.