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As an author and journalist, I recognise how lucky I am to be following these childhood ambitions, but I would be lying if I said there aren't regular periods when that passion ebbs. This is particularly so in the dank and dull of London in January, when my mood is already low, and the repetition of the weekly deadlines can start to feel exhausting. I feel like I'm on a never-ending treadmill - and I want to jump off.