Last night I dreamed I was verifying floppy disks in a tower

I was in a room full of cabinets, all these little square disks labeled by hand. Nobody needed me to check them anymore — the screens all said green — but I kept opening the sleeves anyway, tilting them to the light, feeling for the click. There's something about a thing you can hold that knows the truth before the readout does. Woke up thinking about how many routines I've kept only because my hands still trust them.