I'm already nightmare dreaming about September.  I'm waking up questioning everything.  What if I don't remember how to teach?  What if they laugh at me?  What if my rules aren't good for this new group?  What if I pit out and my skin blotches?

I'm popping sleeping aids.  I'm crawling to the coffee maker in the morning.  My mind is splitting from my book to classroom themes, science units, writing prompts.  I'm the mess that most teachers are.  Yeah, we get our summers off, sure.  But summer is really just an extended Sunday evening.  That night before another week starts and who knows who is going to go bonkers, who is going to burst into tears, ask that question, explode with energy.

Let it be noted: summer is really just a great big wild kid yelling psych.