A desk plant that lives at the top of my screen. He gets me to drink water by asking me to water him.
Every hydration app is a notification machine.
I know I should drink more water. Knowing was never the problem; the reminders were. Alarms and notifications demand attention at a moment they choose, not one I choose, and after a week I dismiss them without reading. I work on this laptop most of the day, and anything that interrupts that gets uninstalled.
Caring for something beats being nagged.
Watering a plant is a small, pleasant act. Being told to hydrate is a chore. So the app never mentions me at all. A plant slowly droops, and the deal is that when I water him, I drink a glass too.
Two assumptions sit under that: posture can carry the whole message, since a drooping leaf needs no copy, and a boring app I keep running beats a delightful one I quit.
It must never interrupt me. No sound, no badges, no popups over my work. Ever.
Six states. The first tiers use zero words: his posture is the reminder.
Escalate the plant, never the interface.
Alphy isn't on screen at all while I'm hydrated. When it's been a while, he slides down from the top of the screen and simply hangs there, drooping a little more as time passes. He asks in words exactly once per cycle: one line, six words at most. Then he folds the card away and waits.
0 min
AmbientBreathing, swaying. Nothing to read.
55 min
DroopA leaf lowers. That is the entire reminder.
90 min
AskOne line, once. Gone in 20 seconds.
2.5 hr
WiltHe stops asking and just waits. He can never die.
Hold him. That's it.
There's no button. Press and hold Alphy himself and a watering can tips in: the soil darkens, the leaves lift, and a small meter counts the millilitres. A full pour takes three seconds and logs 250 ml. Letting go early gives partial credit, so half a hold is half a glass, never an error.
Moving him instead swings him like a real pendulum. Drag, flick, pull: the hook stays screwed to the ceiling while the cords stretch.
Small details that make him feel alive.
He grows
Hitting 80% of my target makes a good day. Three good days grow a leaf, and growth never goes backwards: a bad day wilts him today, but never costs him a stage.
He speaks like a plant, not a coach
One line at a time, matched to the hour, never repeated within a week.
He knows when to freeze
And after a two-hour meeting, there's one reminder waiting, never a queue.
He launches at login and stays away until he genuinely needs something. For the first time, the reminder is something I look forward to touching.
that's Alphy. he says see you soon.
The story behind the work, or my résumé on one page.
