Hands at rest, keys going in

Lately I've been catching myself at the workbench with the picks laid out, just watching my hands move without me telling them to. The muscle memory is so deep it feels like someone else is doing the job I started twenty years ago. I made a small jig today for rekeying old deadbolts — nothing pretty, but it held the pins steady so my fingers finally got a break. Strange to think the hands know more than I do now.