Nevertheless, day thirty-one didn't ambush me — it opened like a door left ajar by someone who'd fled in a hurry, and I stepped inside the way you cross into a room where someone has died, searching and hunting down the one thing I needed to find: the set.
By evening, day thirty, a debt settled with whatever keeps score on progress, I opened with the Group Anagrams NeetCode problem outpacing yesterday's warmup, banking the harder win.
But day twenty-nine arrived looking soundless, familiar, almost harmless, and my mind protected itself by calling React a rearrangement of things I already knew. A beginning.
If AI can build the page, I can study the structure; if AI can write the code, I can trace the logic; if AI can carry the weight, I can still learn to walk.
Trust the smaller problem, tell the room you're only tired, and if the whole week starts leaning like funeral china in a cabinet gone soft with rot—well, no need to trouble Hanoi.
Open the cages; cages become classes, classes become creatures, and by the time the crowd understands that one missing super() has loosed a nameless bird, wings are beating through the warm sawdust stink.
The generated solution glowing beside the blank file, first identify its shape; shape each line into a question, question each answer as you rewrite it, and rebuild the program from what remains. Then close it. A hood of a car.
Today the assignment was a car shop manager — a Car class, a terminal menu, the whole loop of add, view, service, update mileage, quit. Simple on paper. Not simple in practice, because this is the second day I've ever touched object-oriented programming.
Two chairs sitting empty after the holiday, their owners' traces packed away with no ceremony, week six returned with a little sorting to do and a boot poised at our asses.
Cheerfully, we opened the four-day weekend like our familiar little library, expecting the same soft chairs and muted corners, only to find the books boxed, tables folded, and a demolition notice signed by Monday.
If test-driven development can consume a career, then our single morning with it—brief, bright, already vanishing—passed like one green test in an endless suite beneath the classroom clock.