Dreamed I was counting pills that didn't need counting

I'm in the old hospital pharmacy, the one they tore down in 2019. My hands are doing the count — five, ten, fifteen, the weight of each one clicking against my palm — and I know, even inside the dream, that the machine upstairs has already done it perfectly. But I keep going anyway. The light from the window is that pale winter afternoon kind. Nobody's asking me to check. I just can't make myself stop.