The week as a unit
A day is too small to carry weight. You spend it before you notice it. A year is too large — it rounds off the edges, makes a decade feel like a single season. The week sits in between: long enough to mean something, short enough to count.
A long life is roughly four thousand one hundred and sixty weeks. On one screen that fits. Drawn as a grid, each square a week, a whole life becomes something you can take in at a glance. That single image does what no calendar app manages: it shows you the shape of the time you have left.
What the grid reveals
When the lived weeks are filled and the remaining ones left open, the grid becomes a quiet confrontation. You see how much is behind you, how much is not, and how the present week — the one marked square — moves inexorably toward the edge of the filled block.
It is not a countdown to a death date; no one knows that. It is a mirror held up to the way you are spending the only currency that cannot be earned back.
