Trying to be Creative Again

I'm trying to regain/maintain the creative streak I used to possess as a kid. I feel that the older I get, the more distracted I become by reality. I don't want that to happen. I jotted this down tonight without editing it or having much of an idea for a plot. I've decided random stream of consciousness writing might be the trick to stimulating my creative juices. Here is said jot (slightly edited):

He sat in the wooden rocking chair by the door. A few days may have gone by since he last stood. Not sure. His windows had been blacked out with spray paint, all clocks unplugged. No calendars, no phones, TV, radio. Completely shut off from the outside world. The wooden chair rocked slowly back and forth on the wooden floor, creaking and groaning. The arms had nicks and gouges where his fingers hand been picking and gnawing when he first sat down. He stared at his bed a few feet in front of him, dimly lit by the single hanging bulb that occasionally flickered and buzzed. He had no thoughts. He hadn't felt tired or hungry or bored. The steam heater spat and hissed. It might be day. His internal clock, slowly shutting down and forgetting, told him it might be day. No matter. He started to nod. Not falling asleep but fading away. Finally nearing the end. He vaguely wondered how long he would be in his dim yellow room before anyone discovered him. Again, no matter.

I'm Raising My Eyebrow in Thought

This weekend was filled with triumph and tragedy. So much so that it tires me to even think about attempting to recount it all. Suffice it to say, I'm exhausted on every level and I just want to be completely free of any obligations for the next 48 hours but the world won't let me... and so I trudge on. But I could really use a hug.