Writing wrongs

I'm so tentative about 'goal setting'.  I'm sure a psychologist would say it's because I don't have enough faith in myself to believe I'll actually complete them (there may be some element of truth in that) but it's fear, mostly.  Fear of moving out of my comfort zone.  Because once you've completed those goals, what's next?  Something bigger and better?  What if I don't want that...what if I'm not up to being 'bigger and better'?  

So I've decided to set little, monthly 'targets' to complete, with a treat for the start of each month if (when!) they get completed.  Start small, build up - that's what I'm trying to do this year.  So...this month for example I will edit at least ten chapters of my novel, learn to meditate, complete at least ten writing exercises...you get the idea.  My treat is that I'll go and read some trash with a coffee at Caffe Nero (those bloody loyalty cards, it's like Boots, you feel almost hypnotised into going there because you feel like you're getting something for nothing).  The 'trash' will probably be Derren Brown's new autobiography, which I got for Christmas.  I'm getting more highbrow in my old age - previously I'd have considered a copy of 'Heat' as trash; now it doesn't feature on my radar at all.  It definitely means I'm getting older.  You just get more irritated by things, like the endless Christmas and New Year repetitions.  And I'm only 33.  I've got to start spending Christmas away from home.  But anyway...

...the book I'm actually reading at the moment is about British political history in the Seventies.  I think it's interesting to know what your place of birth was like just as you came into it; what things were like for your parents as they were settling down happily ever after (!) and having you.  Plus I wanted to really get to the bottom of what people go on about when they talk about Margaret Thatcher being a heroine or a villain.  I've got a perfectly laid-back and lovely friend who spits pips if her name is mentioned, wishes her dead, and says she'll dance on her grave, and she's only my age.  How could she have inspired such hatred in her?  I'm hoping that by informing myself about what was going on at the time, I can better understand it.  And I'm enjoying the read, even though holding the book itself makes me feel like I should be wearing a beige blazer with elbow patches on it.