The Nicsperiment Does Not Understand Life

I wish I had been putting my thoughts down more over the last six months, but the truth is that those thoughts are mush. I had a stroke. Why? I sneezed, a one in a billion event, a microcosmic nothing. Why? I guess it just happened. What was I supposed to learn from that? Life is short? I already knew that. Life is precious? I already knew that. You could die at any second? I already knew that too. I am mortal? I knew that too.
Then I broke a bone for the first time. Okay, so I'm breakable. I guess I always thought deep down that 43 years without a broken bone meant maybe I was unbreakable. Guess that isn't true--though I do blame the stroke medication for that happening. It made my normally adamantium bones temporarily brittle.
Hey, I didn't mention here that I got in yet another life-threatening car accident. Remember when my car flipped over three times eight years ago and pancaked and I somehow walked out relatively unscathed? This time I spun around a bunch of times, then hit an electricity pole and my KID was with me! Walked out of this one with nothing but some wicked whiplash and a new pickup truck. Fun times! Between an unexpected divorce, a stroke, a bone break, and yet another insane car wreck, what even is 2025 for me? One giant onslaught! And why? I don't know! What am I supposed to take from all of this? That the universe is a dangerous place? That not only an uncaring universe but even my own body is trying to kill me?!
My faith is intact, but that's faith that when this is all over, a better place is waiting for me. Better than one where just sneezing can just send me into oblivion, where I still struggle to eat and drink and can't feel anything on my left side...well, that's parts not really true anymore. I can feel things on my life side now, but these are all atypical feelings. Hot is cold, cold is pain. Doesn't make much sense. My left side is pretty much always hot and sweats far more easily than my right. Something sad happens? My right tear duct is completely inoperative. Most I can do with my left is produce a little trickle. That's not all that's weird, but that's all that I feel like getting into. Is destiny real? Is purpose real? Is there a point to anything in this life?
Will I ever know love again? Sometimes I don't care. I feel free, and anyway, who would want to put up with what my life is now? Then, sometimes, at 2 am, I lie in my bed, and I wish a woman was with me. 
I went back to work. Not just from home. In person. That is interesting. It feels weird having had to relearn how to move around properly and swallow my own saliva again, let alone water and drink and food and sit for hours with darling nurses who tied an electrode to my throat and fried my esophagus until it finally started working again, and I spent so many nights bleeding, and spaced out on medication and literally fried nerves, bleeding from a feeding hole in my stomach, and now I'm just sitting at a desk, staring at a computer, while people make small talk in the hallway. It's pretty weird.
And what is the point of any of it? I have no idea. Control is an illusion. And it's not the only thing that is.
I started running again too. A couple days ago. This morning I made a mile without stopping. I've run eight marathons in the last six years. Will I ever run another? Does it matter?
It does to me.