Google decided to mark all Weebly-hosted sites as 'dangerous' this morning. Weebly keep trying to downplay it and say it was only a small percentage of the sites, but it certainly didn't look like it from where I was sitting.
And how do I know it wasn't a small percentage of sites?
Their own site editor was blacklisted along with everyone else's site.
It's not a big deal for me. I mean, who the hell even comes over here, right? But I felt bad for people whose businesses relied on their site working well, and whose customers might not be savvy enough to know how to get around the massive, threatening red screen Google puts up. People do freak out at the big threatening screen and probably don't have the day job where you go "oh fuck, the cookie's expired again" — i.e. me at least once a week.
They've shrugged it off so flippantly as a "false-positive that adversely affected a certain number of sites" but for those people who rely on it to make a living? I'm sure all that lost revenue is not so easily shrugged off.
It's definitely 'flu. And not even the fun kind that lets me drift gently away and hallucinate very, very gay stories. The last time I had it was when I realised the Rose Queen was male, not female, and suddenly there was so much more plot...
Not a luxury I've got today. It's been ten hours of work, and then another ten tomorrow, and eight after that. There may be questionable decisions made but... well, I can't go dropping 28 hours' worth of shifts because I'm ill. I don't get sick pay (this was mooted maybe five years ago? and vanished without trace for, I suspect, fairly obvious reasons) and I don't fancy their chances of finding cover for all those hours at short notice. I'm sure they'd try, and I'm sure for some of the people on one of my shifts extra hours would be welcome, but... there's a big chunk of money to miss out on just because I'm occasionally vomiting my guts up and I haven't slept properly in two days.
A friend and fellow writer challenged me to write 5,000 words of smut a week. The mutant death cold from hell put paid to that. Nothing makes you less inclined toward writing smut than every sneeze being so hard you think you'll eject several teeth and possibly a tonsil.
To be fair, I'm seeing a distinct lack of her contacting me with what she's written, soooooo...
Asexual, aromantic, and transmasc non-binary. No, I have no idea how I ended up writing romance either.