Night time comes too early and with it, all productivity, the days fade so fast and I have no idea where the hours vanish. By 7 30, work sprints to a halt so I can drag myself to the gym, half panicked, half lazy under the sluggish fear that I didn’t achieve what I needed. I am frantic these days, struggling to start two new businesses, finish a book I plan to unashamedly self-publish, keep my blogging career alive as well as make it to the gym most nights, spend at least an hour of quality time with my boyfriend and forge a modest social life by meeting new people. Most days I feel like such an underachiever, my long TO-DO list is a constant bully, eagle eyed and stern, tutting away from my desk whenever I consider doing something indulgent, like a movie or reading a book. I fear I spend too much time reprimanding myself for not working enough, when really, I work too much. I suppose that is the beauty but also, the curse of loving what I do – motivation runs deep but it doesn’t ever stop flowing. But mostly today, I’m struggling with the shortening days that seem slow too, especially mid afternoon, when I’ve been sat at my desk for hours without uttering a word to anyone but Biba and perhaps, Snapchat. It is quite lonely and rather overwhelming, now don’t mistake me, I wouldn’t have it any other way but sometimes I feel like a ghost. Screens I suppose, do that to us. It all feels rather artificial but then again, I did pave a career out of digital bricks, so I don’t know anything else. I spent the morning with my brand manager and good friend, Marta yesterday, we usually meet once weekly to consolidate all the work we’ve done independently. She emphasized that there is Christmas, an editorial goldmine for influencers and soon after, Paris Fashion Week returns. The prospect of those two calendar markings overwhelmed me, I’m not quite sure I have yet recovered from the chaos that was September’s PFW. I guess I’m working too much but I never feel like I’ve worked enough. I’m tired all the time but also tired of the world quietly mocking women like me who work as bloggers. It really is not as easy as a selfie, plus it’s fiercely competitive. Last week I had a brand I’ve collaborated with for years terminate our working relationship, I felt like I had been dumped. All their branded hangers still hang in my closet, quite like when you come across an ex-boyfriend’s sock or sweatshirt, it made me sad. Because while this is a business, it is one based on me, as a person not a brand. I’ve never understood bloggers who preach about establishing a ‘brand image’, I believe my followers continue to come back because of my personality. A big personality cannot be contained within the walls of a ‘brand image’. Furthermore, I am only 28 and still have so much of myself to figure out intrinsically, so what hope do I have of curating a consistent reputation for Frassy? I am what I am and what I am is ever-changing. Which brings me to this: There is no corporation to hide behind, just me, a woman and a camera. It can make me terribly vulnerable and it’s hard to not take things personally. Ofcourse, there are infinite upsides to my job too, but those are already so blatantly obvious to anyone that follows me; I’d rather illustrate the never ending hustle that sits behind the content you see here. It really never stops – time is never enough, doubts abound and most days, I spend a considerable amount of time convincing brands to pay me, rather than generous contracts appearing like magic via email. I’m tired but I guess I’m tired because never ending energy inevitably will tire anyone and infinite enthusiasm, ultimately is a blessing. So here I am, faithfully blessed but devotedly, tired too.