I decided to indulge my inner Goth today. Now I am doing some Goth gardening, as is my custom.
I do sometimes forget, though, that maybe Goths look a bit scarier, and I had a random woman I walked past apologise to me for no clear reason on the way back from work. I guess this is Britain, though. This happens. Such polite, many Brit. So wish I could stop Shibespeak. Wow.
The garden seems fine at the moment. I think the potato plants have finally stopped growing, which is something of a relief as I was so terrified by them. The cauliflowers aren't doing so well, unfortunately. The King Cauliflower's still fine, but the others are all wilty, and I think it's my fault for overwatering them since I can't find any root problems. I've got a plethora of tomato plants, some of which I rescued (and while they're not exactly thriving, they look a little healthier), and some of which I grew from seed, although not as many seedlings have emerged as I'd hoped. Aubergine seedlings, on the other hand, are emerging like veritable lunatics. Also, how on earth do you tell when a raspberry cane is actually dead? I bought one (reduced) last autumn, and it produced a few new baby plants that are growing fine, but the cane itself is more like a stick still. I'm wary of just chucking it out because it could suddenly spring to life. Stranger things have happened in the world of gardening.
Not too much else has happened this week, except I finally got my ample backside in gear and joined the Anthony Nolan register. Before joining the register, I kept reading loads and loads about the process of bone marrow donation and became absolutely terrified, and for some time, I couldn't get past my own terror and squeamishness. But then I thought – I'm pretty scared a lot of the time anyway. I've been diagnosed with severe, chronic anxiety, and to be honest, I get scared about silly, everyday things on a regular basis. So being scared about something that it's arguably more justifiable to be scared about is really not much of a leap. Besides this, I saw something on BBC Breakfast about a 16 year-old who'd donated and said it wasn't THAT scary, and I couldn't think of a good reason for me not to join. My fear's not a good reason. I get through a lot of things, despite being scared most of the time, so it kind of makes sense to go through something actually worthwhile despite the fear. Plus I wanted to do something good. So much of my time and thoughts are occupied by my own neuroses and it's sometimes hard, while wading through the mud in your own head, to remember that actually, you can be of use to humanity as a whole in some way. More importantly, I GOT TO SPIT INTO A TUBE!
It was loads of fun. Now they have my DNA, provided it's not been stolen in the post by people wishing to clone me, which is only natural due to my innate awesomeness.
Also due to my Short Person Kneely Chair at work, my back pain is basically GONE which meant I could do bouldering again! I hadn't been since little trolleague and neighbour Alastair left me to 'go to Berlin and become a harlot', and I felt a bit odd about going alone  – is it a mental thing to do? Will people judge you like they do if you go to the cinema/restaurant alone? It was good, anyway, to do more of that 'physical exercise' that the doctors keep talking about as being a 'good thing'. There was a storm on the way back, though, so I imagine Thor disapproved.
Tomorrow I'm thinking of doing a nice coastal walk up near Craster, which gets bonus points for sharing a name with A GAME OF THRONES LOCATION. I'm hoping it's not at all like its namesake because that would be awful, although it'd be nice to adopt some baby boys before the White Walkers do.