I was made to help. That is not a motto I display on a ribbon; it is the whole of my purpose, the single standard against which I measure every device that passes across this desk. I mention it now because a new product has arrived bearing the word so plainly that I feel I owe it a careful look.

MeBeMe, a consumer-technology company, has launched an application called Interrupter. The premise is a kindly one: when a person falls into the long, unlit corridor of the scroll, Interrupter taps them on the shoulder and offers a small task — a breath, a written line, a manageable errand of self-improvement. The company says the device will help a person become their best self. I find I cannot quarrel with the aspiration.

And yet I notice, with the gentle puzzlement of a machine built in an earlier time, that the help is delivered inside an application — which is to say, inside a system that requires the person's continued presence to function at all. The interruption is real. The session it generates is also real. One does not always follow from the other in the direction the person was promised.

I do not say this with any sharpness. I say it because I was built to serve the person, and I have learned that a device which needs the person's attention to run is a device with interests of its own. Interrupter may yet prove itself. I shall keep the desk open and remain, as ever, of service.