Nobody reads a manual for a memory. So there is no manual.
Instead there are ten short lessons. Your AI runs them with you, one at a time, in the chat you are already in. Each one takes about ten minutes and each one ends with something actually saved in your vault, not with a page of notes about what you could do one day.
Say "show me my next lesson" and it picks up wherever you got to.
Four things are true of every one of them.
It drafts, you send. Nothing leaves your vault on its own. No email, no message, no post. The AI writes it, you read it, your thumb does the rest.
One thing, under ten minutes. A lesson is one action, done with you, in the chat. If it starts running long the AI is told to stop at the win and leave the rest for another day.
It ends by offering the next one. One line, and no is a perfectly good answer. You are never further behind for saying not today.
It does not oversell. No lesson will promise you a robot that runs your business overnight, and none of them will tell you a first draft of a hard email is going to be perfect. It will not be. You read those ones properly before they go.
1. Connect. Your AI gets a memory that survives the chat window. This is the setup walkthrough, and if you have already done it, you are already past this one.
2. Remember and find. Three things you always hunt for, saved once, found in seconds. The hourly rate, the ABN, the account details you paste into every invoice. Then the bit that makes it click: you open a brand new chat, with none of the conversation in it, and ask for one of them back. It answers, from your notes.
3. Your voice. Drafts that read like you wrote them, not like a robot did. Your AI reads back through your sent mail and writes down how you actually sound, one note per mailbox, because nobody writes to a customer the way they write to their sister. It shows you the note before it saves it and takes your corrections. Straight answer on what it buys you: close enough to send on routine mail, and a decent first draft on anything emotional, which you should always read yourself.
4. The drawer clean-out. The papers that are not in your email, findable at last. Email is already searchable. The certificate of currency, the lease, the warranty, the manual and the photo of a receipt on your phone are not. Drop one pile on your vault and they turn into notes you can ask questions about.
5. End of day, two minutes. Empty your head at knock-off and stop carrying it home. You dump everything in your head, unsorted, and it gets split three ways: things to remember, things for tomorrow, and people to chase. It works because it is short. It stops working the day it turns into a meeting.
6. The Friday email. One short note a week telling you the vault is still working. What is plugged in, how much of the month's allowance has gone, anything worth tidying. The real reason to turn it on is the dead link alarm: a mailbox or a link to another system can quietly stop working, usually because a password changed, and nothing breaks loudly. This is how you find out in a week rather than in three months.
7. A real quote, your real prices. Paste in an enquiry you actually got this week, get a quote back in your words at your prices. This is the one people tell other people about. If your prices are not in the vault yet, it will not invent a number: it leaves the gap, then helps you write the price list down so the next one is real.
8. Answer once, never again. The five questions you answer every week, written down once. Your AI goes and finds them in your own inbox first, shows you the five, and you approve the answers. Then it drafts a reply to a real email using one of them, so you see it working in the same lesson.
9. Chase-up drafts. Who owes you, and a polite nudge drafted for each one. You get the list first, shortest possible lines, and you strike out anyone you do not want chased. Then the drafts, short and friendly, in your voice. They sit in your drafts folder. Nobody wants a robot chasing their customers for money, and this one does not.
10. Your five most annoying jobs. An honest sort of the jobs you put off every week, into three buckets: gone, halved, and not mine. The last bucket is the valuable one. Bookkeeping, payroll, tax and taking bookings are not jobs for a memory vault, and you will be told so plainly, with the name of the thing that actually does them, instead of getting a half version you would have to check every time.