This time in two weeks, I will have woken up after an awful night's sleep (more than likely). I will have danced my way around the flat with excitement. I will then have picked up my keys with shoes, bag and coat on and ready, stood at my front door and realised what I'm actually going to do and then, probably, cry.
This time in two weeks, I will have gotten over that panic attack (or at least will be doing a fricking good job of pretending I'm calm) and walked to school. I will busy myself with a few odd jobs which won't need doing because everything is already sorted for the first day. Then I will go out to the playground and collect my class.
My class. With 29 real, live children. Children who are my responsibility. Not just to keep them safe, but to actually manage them and oh my goodness is that going to be a challenge and a half and then, on top of all that, I actually have to teach them things.
I'm fairly certain I don't know how to teach.