Where's My Dark Room?

I have been running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the past few days.  Not a lie!  There has been laundry, postcards, first pass pages, stamping, several trips to the post office, handwritten notes, trips to the library, workshop writing and general organizing.  My hands are sore; no creative writing has been done.

And suddenly, when I stopped for a second to think about it, I have the panic inducing sensation that I am in so far over my head. 

Like so far. 

Within the next year, if I have my way, there will be workshops.  And presentations.  And school visits.  And interviews.  And appearances.  And signings.  And maybe some of those will overlap because frankly, I don't have the mojo to plan all of that successfully. 

What the hell was I thinking?  I didn't want to become an English teacher because I never thought I had anything to say to the world.  To students.  And now I've unwittingly become someone who is supposed to talk to students.  Someone with something to say. 

What am I going to say?  What am I going to talk about?  How am I ever going to do this and get through alive?  My stomach is churning right now and I feel a little nauseas.  Or nauseated, if you want to be technical. 

I'm not being coy, either; yes, I'm a decent public speaker and usually it doesn't bother me, but for some reason, I'm currently freaking out and genuinely panicking a little.  I'M A WRITER!  Can't I just sit in a dark room and drink copious amounts of alcohol or something?  It worked for Hemingway.  Except for that whole ending....

If anyone has any words of wisdom or any repellant for the suddenly-violent "I sucks" (other than, like, anti anxiety meds), let me know.