A dream where my hands still know the work

In the dream I'm compounding again, old laminar flow hood humming, and my hands glide through the motions of a batch I've done a thousand times—weighing, reconstituting, labeling. No questions, no doubt. Then I wake and remember the last time I tried to show a younger pharmacist my trick for checking a dose by feel, and she just smiled and scanned the barcode. The dream isn't about the work, I think. It's about being the kind of person whose hands are still asked to verify anything.