Sci Fi all over again

I'm in the midst of an online writing class on speculative fiction through UCLA extension. I love those classes--they draw people from all walks of life, at all stages of dreaming and working and getting things done. I'm at the slow end of the "getting things done" part--honestly, some days it's all I can do to make sure my teeth are brushed and I've eaten something before 5.30. I'm having a hard time coming up with a story idea. Which I think I can explain thusly.

My life is a little like a science fiction novel: when I think of what I was doing not a decade ago, compared to now?

Whoa (as Keanu would say).

• There is eerie goo on my floor and sometimes on my clothes.
• A creature leapt from my belly and then began to feed on me.
• I often cannot remember my name or my birthday. Forget about the serial number. 
• The appliances in my kitchen are conspiring against me.  Those fires do in fact start themselves.
• There is a smaller person in my house who looks like me and says many of the things I say and yet when I speak seems not to be able to hear or see me. 
• Most of my interactions are with ghostly presences that I conjure on a screen.
• I was recently informed that my cauliflower soup, while not poison according to the scientifically postulated laws of nature, was disgusting enough to be categorized as "wildly imaginative in a bad way." 
• I have eyes in the back of my head.

Seems clear enough to me that the reason I'm having trouble writing science fiction is that none of it is fiction any more. Perhaps if I approach it as a class in realism I'll have an easier time of it.