I have been in a funk. It started about a month ago. I don’t talk about my day job too often because the fact of the matter is, out here in cyberspace I like to be known as simply a writer. I, like many other writers have a day job (well sort of- I work from 3:00 a.m to 11:00 a.m). What do I do? I work in a casino. I am what they call a “dual”, which means I am half dealer, half supervisor. I began as a croupier (craps dealer) and learned additional games along the way (black jack, three card poker, Spanish 21 and Let it Ride). About a month ago, I was asked by my superior to train for Baccarat. I knew it was a good opportunity and I wouldn’t be able to turn it down. (Well, I could have, but not everyone is asked so I hated the thought of saying no.) Saying yes to training meant I was saying yes to fourteen hour days. I knew it was a temporary situation and in the end I would be glad I said yes. I didn’t know that it would put an end to writing for a while. You see, I am also a mother of four. My free time had to be spent mothering. I’d wake up at 1:00 a.m. and go non-stop until 8:00 p.m. After the first week, I started to feel blue. I blamed it on lack of sleep. It occurred to me that it wasn’t the lack of sleep or the overload of obligations. It was the absence of writing that was making me feel lost in my own world. For the past ten years I have written daily (occasionally I’d skip a day or two but never a week). The part of me I enjoyed so much was gone. I started to feel like I was no longer a writer. I even convinced myself that I might have to give up on my dream of becoming a published author. I’d stumble upon writing sites such as Twitter and feel like I didn’t belong. I’d attempt to write only to fall asleep in mid sentence. I had a pity party for myself and was about to make peace with the fact that my dream had to be abandoned. I simply no longer had the time (for ten years I was a stay at home mother who waitressed part time) my choice to get a full time job meant that my dreams had to be sacrificed. I spoke these words over and over trying to convince myself that I believed them to be true. Then somewhere in the distance of my mind another voice spoke back. “Don’t be silly,” it said. Being in a funk did not mean that I no longer could write. In fact if I chose to never write again, chances are I’d never come out of the funk. Writing is my first love. It is my therapy. It is my hope for a better tomorrow. It is who I am. I am a writer. I might have other things going on but a true writer always finds their way back. Today I am freeing the funk. I am continuing to do what I love. A writer may do other things but the only thing they want to do is write. Have you found yourself in a funk? What did you do to get out of it?