Part of it is that nothing much happens. Life is pretty boring, all said. No great problems and no great triumphs. There is just that dull hum of irrelevance in every moment.
The other problem is... the sky has eyes. Writing can change things around the writer and I can't see that being useful. I would either disappoint well-wishers or give ammunition to the demonic creatures which dedicate time to lurking in the shadows (and I thought _I_ was bored).
In any case, I am still alive and still keeping an eye in this direction.