Thatcherism and other reasons not to be cheerful

Pretending my day wasn't another hellish exercise in preventing me from ever doing anything creative ever again is getting harder and harder.  

I know they've won.  I really do.  All you have to do is keep throwing more problems, more demands, more hassle, more stress than a person can take in a lifetime so the best they can hope for is to merely survive, condense the worst of it into ten years until it's too late for them to succeed anyway and just keep laughing while they carry on desperately trying to get their head back above water.  This is suffocation.  That's how I feel.  I am fighting a constant battle to stay alive until the next permitted breath.  And I never know how long they'll make me wait for the next one, so I don't know if I'm just going to die trying to hold on for it.

I now realise that what I've just described is not unlike water-boarding.  I.e torture.  You know, the kind they use on terrorists to get them to confess to their evil plots.  But if the evil plot is to make the vast majority of people work so sleep-deprivingly, health-damagingly hard in order to just about scrape enough money to pay their bills (not to mention health insurance) on their rather modest accommodation* that they never get to prove their worth in what they are actually uniquely best at, then it begs the question: who are the real terrorists?  And where is the Guantanamo equivalent for them?

I rest my case.  (And now, maybe I can also rest my head on a pillow and do that unfamiliar 'sleeping' thing, whatever that is.)

*On a completely unrelated note, I realise that I got talking about the similarity between council flats and ,paneláky' in my Czech lesson today.  And, for all the attitude I get from a certain place for my slowness in learning Czech compared to Slavic language speakers, (which is down to not getting paid enough to be able to have fewer meet-ees, so I've no time to do any homework anymore) it dawns on me that I had a conversation in Czech about politics today. (Yes, albeit a slow, laborious and helped-along one.) So put that in your metaphorical pipe and metaphorically smoke it!  I can now moan about the repercussions of Thatcherism in Czech as well as English.  (Well, someone had to.)