Not a dashboard — a dashboard shows you everything and decides nothing. This is the desk you sit down at: what you picked for today, what's live, what's waiting on somebody else, and the thing you were mid-sentence on when you closed the laptop.
Every tool I tried opened onto a wall of everything: counts, charts, badges, red dots on the exact things I was already flinching from. Nine panels at once is more than my head can hold, so I'd close the tab and go back to a paper list.
The instruments still need to exist — the hours, the miles, the tickets, the money. What I needed was a first screen that subtracts, and then a way to quiet the rest without switching any of it off.
Twelve people want something. Four of them are waiting on you. That sentence is the whole design.
The four things you picked this morning — not a backlog, not everything open. The pile is one click away and stays there.
Four waiting on you, five waiting on someone else, three that come back later. Twelve open requests is a fog; that split is a morning.
A running timer, a call at eleven, the trip you started. One strip across the top, everywhere in the app — so you never lose a timer.
The note you were mid-sentence on is still on the shelf, caret and all, days later. That one is the accommodation, not a convenience.
Nine instruments on a Tuesday morning is right. Nine at nine on a Saturday is noise. So you say what belongs on screen in Weekend, and the Cockpit shows four — without switching a single thing off.
Your mileage still records. You're just not looking at it. How modes work ›
Agreed — which is why the Cockpit isn't a summary of the app. Every line on it is the work: tick it, start it, open the room, write the line. Nothing here is a widget pointing at a real screen somewhere else.
And if you'd rather land on the queue, that's a mode. The app doesn't move your furniture; you do.
Today's count and a running timer — both things you asked for. No unread badges. A number you didn't ask for is an obligation.
Twelve days is a fact in quiet ink. It might be sitting in someone else's office, and that isn't your failure.
“All clear. Nobody needs anything from you.” No get-started checklist, no tour, no sample data.
Every panel: on, off, and dragged into order — per person, not per workspace. Off hides it and never stops it recording.
It opens, and three things are designed for it: start a trip, start a timer, slip a note. The rest reads fine and edits at a desk.
A line from a real person, changing daily, that knows what day it is. Something to get you moving on a Tuesday; something to slow you down on a Sunday.
It's theirs — their own Today, their own notes, their own modes. Not a read-only view of yours.
That's the only test that matters for a first screen. Two weeks free, no card, and if you go quiet you simply stop.
This is the short version of the site, cut down to what reads well on a small screen. The full thing — every instrument explained, the pricing configurator, the whole story — lives on the desktop site. So does the app: Cloudbase is meant to be worked from a real screen, at a desk, with your hands on it.