One short entry each Sunday. By December you can see where the year actually went, instead of guessing.
One row, on a Sunday, while the week is still fresh enough to be honest about.
Fifty-two rows, seven days each. A busy stretch and a quiet one look different from across the room.
Tag what happened to the parts of your life you care about, then read one thread at a time.
A life in weeks, and the stages you plan to spend them in.
A count of every week, mark, highlight, goal and stage in your account.
One JSON file with every year in it, or the same log as a document to print. Not a support ticket — a button.
Two clicks. No soft delete, no grace period, no email asking you to reconsider.
Life speaks the Model Context Protocol, so the assistant you already pay for can read the weeks you've written and — if you tick the box — write one down for you. It connects behind the same Google sign-in you use, so there's no key to paste and none to leak. We don't charge for it and we don't pay for it.
Reading is the default and every write is a box you tick yourself; anything that deletes says what it would remove and waits. What each assistant needs is on the setup page, and everything one has done is listed in Settings with an Undo beside what can be taken back.
One Google click, and a working setup already filled in.
Tap the days, add a few bullets, answer four short questions.
By March the grid has a shape. By December it has a story.
Yes. There is no subscription, no trial, no paid tier and no advertising — and nothing you write is sold or used to train anything, which is the other way free apps get paid for.
Nothing dramatic. A week you didn't write is a hole in the grid rather than a zero in your totals, and any past week opens from the grid so you can fill it in late. The score and the streak read what you logged, so they measure your logging, never your life.
About two minutes. Tap the days, add a few bullets, answer four short questions — nothing needs looking up, and a quiet week is a shorter entry rather than a worse one.
You. Every record carries the account it belongs to and every query is filtered by it, so no other account can read a word of your weeks. The one exception is the requests board — a page you post to on purpose, where what you write is meant to be read. The full disclosure, including the three requests that leave this app on their own, is on the privacy page.
Both, and both are buttons rather than requests. Export hands you every year as one JSON file, or the whole log as a printable document. Delete erases the account outright — immediately, with no soft delete, no grace period and no email asking you to reconsider.
No. Life runs in the browser, on a phone, a laptop or a TV, and sign-in is with Google, so there is no password to invent. If you want it on a home screen it installs as an app from the browser's own menu, but nothing about it requires that.