I came close to bursting into tears of rage in public today. What was going to be an easy, relaxed takeaway dinner on the beach turned into an occasion for meltdown.

It was early in the evening when we rang in our order for Thai takeaway. I was looking forward to sailing into the shop, past all the other clamouring customers and smugly walking away with our orders, sans the long wait. I could not have pictured a scenario further from reality. I ended up watching helplessly as order after order sail out the door. Thrice I went forward to inquire, emboldened by the initial reassurance that our order would be  a 15 minute wait. Each time the waiter assured me that it was on its way. 45 minutes later, Joel pushes his big frame to the head of the queue and waited. The owner immediately served him, and moments later offered chicken phad thai in place of my order of seafood phad thai. He was unconcerned and admitted that my order had long disappeared out the door by mistake. It was take it or leave it.

I angrily demanded a refund,  almost speechless with rage. The owner and the waiter, expressions blank, saw no need to apologise or  remedy the mistake. The place was heaving with hungry bodies proffering cash. They did not need our custom. I wanted to reach across the counter and scream into that waiter’s face. I have his image burned into my mind. Rage as I had not known it before consumed me. I could barely think coherently. I left and was ready to spit. I was almost out of control. It was now 7pm and every single takeaway place was packed with tourists and locals. Dinner was still a long wait away, wherever we went.

As we drove home I was ashamed of my over reaction. I was also worried. I had almost blown it over what something that should have just annoyed me. I had to face that fact that I was already tense and simmering even before this evening started. The truth is that I am more worried and stressed about this writng venture than I care to admit. The challenge seems insurmountable, the pressure immense. And here is the most ridiculous fact of all : I haven’t written a single article as yet. I have not faced the trepidation of submission, or the bitterness of rejection. I have fallen into reading frenzy, feverishly taking in the ‘how to’s of writing. And feeling the pressure mount with each chapter. How on earth am I going to survive this ride if I’m already chewed up before I even start?