School anxiety ... again!

I wish non-teachers could/might/would understand how much anxiety there is going into a new school year ... for the teachers! People like me who are already having back-to-school nightmares and anxiety attacks buying 24 boxes of Crayolas and hundreds of pencils.
The children, of course, have their unique anxieties (Will I miss the bus? Will I have any friends in my classes? Will I be able to even find my classes? Will my teachers be hags? Will I have the right kind of clothes? Will the other kids make fun of me?).
But we teachers, well, we have anxiety too. Although every single teacher I've talked to has some level of panic, mine always kicks into overdrive once August arrives: Will I oversleep the first day of school and arrive late and haggard and panicky? Will I have healthy colleague relationships this year? Will I be able to produce the level of energy that is needed to educate daily 150 seventh graders? Will the students think I'm pregnant on account of my newest fat roll and decide to give me Slim-Fast for Christmas (this actually happened to a former colleague ... oh, the horror and embarrassment ... ) Will I have good standardized test results? Will my IBS kick in during the middle of class? Will I have off-the-charts-horrific-to-handle-kids? Will I be able to climb the three flights of stairs to get to my classroom without needing oxygen? Will lesson planning and grading and lesson planning and parent meetings and grading and lesson planning and student discipline issues and staff meetings and grading get the best of me this year? Will this be the year I finally throw up my hands and announce, "Well, this is IT! No more teaching for me. I've had IT!!"
It's always possible, I suppose.

The teaching nightmares have begun

Uh oh. They're here, the dreams.
Oh, they start out all right: I'm standing at the head of the classroom, wearing my best suit and most confident smile. The students, lined up neatly in rows, smile warmly at me in return. Hands are positioned Catholic-school style on the tops of desks. Everything is right with the world. I turn to write my name on the board and then ...
.... suddenly the room grows three times in size; the children, who are now out of their chairs, scramble helter-skelter throughout the gigantic room. They're chasing each other. A desk is tipped over. Swooosh, Bang! A chair flies past my head and leaves a huge gouge in the chalkboard. Curse words pepper the air. It's snowing paper balls. I try to get the class under control. "Children, children!! Sit down!!! Please." I shrink in stature; the students grow large, larger ... . Total mayhem ensues. I start to cry and pound my arms at my sides. I work my mouth, trying to find something to say. No words come out. I am now a sobbing, miserable mute.
It's a terrible scene. Something out of a Roald Dahl children's book.
I awaken; the hair on my neck is wet. I look at the clock: 3:24 a.m. Remind myself of the date. Calm down by imagining I'm at the beach. Remind myself of the date again.
It's only the first of July, Kate.
For Pete's sake .. get a grip!