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It was bound to happen. The fact that I have on  several separate occasions discussed with my landlord and upstairs neighbors the icing-over hazard presented by our inexorably sloping driveway could only result in one turn of events: a minor injury to my minimally-important personage.

Tonight, while the motion-sensor light delayed its response to my presence, I slipped, fell, and caught myself on the lower palm of my right hand. The part I use to knead bread dough.

There is gore, not much but recordable as such. It likely won’t scar, has stopped bleeding outright and is barely more than a nuisance.

This is why we have the motion sensor. Never mind the fact that it turns on a full minute after sensing such motion, then stays on for 8+ hours post-activation, shining directly into my bedroom. We have it so that the aftermaths of accidents will be illuminated? We have it so the damage can be assessed.

We have it so I cannot sleep other than fitfully? We have it to fulfill the requirements of the lease.

Right now my future has never looked much better, as far as the week goes. But if this godforsaken light does not go out, tonight is a complete bust.

Is it enough that my life has meaning? It must be enough that my heart is full.