I spent the first week of November rewriting the compounding ledger by hand. Not for any practical reason—the digital record was complete, timestamped, signed. But something had gone missing in the three years since we switched to the automated dispenser: the weight of the pen, the pause before each entry, the necessity of committing ink to paper without an undo key. The old ledger at Laughlin's Pharmacy on Baltic Street ran from 1953 to 1989. Every line in the same steady clerk’s hand, every correction struck through once and initialed. No omissions. That ledger taught me more about professional discipline than any codebase I have ever read.