Pressure? You Want Pressure?

Take a lump of coal and place it between your hands. Squeeze as hard as you can for several million years, and you'll get a diamond...or the approximation of one will be pried from your cold, dead, skeletal remains. Life is something like that as well: it takes pressure to bring out the best in most of us. It's my believe that we ALL think this way, or else we wouldn't procrastinate so often on so many projects. Most of us imply that we've left that urge to do tomorrow what we should be doing today behind us as we've matured. Sadly, most of us are merely fooling ourselves. But this is not about castigating ourselves for our foibles; it's about showing up under pressure.
I realized today that I have roughly six weeks to prepare myself to teach a college class: something I've always wanted to do (as well as give a sermon) but figured the chances were slim. Now, the reality is upon me. I've pored over ten different syllabi in an attempt to come up with a semblance of an organized plan, and I have a rough idea of the direction I'd like to take with my unsuspecting students. of course, there's a deadline for submission to the department chairperson...and pressure. I can handle that. I'm confident...but writing for other professionals? EEK!
As part of a summer departmental program, the writing staff gets together monthly to read and discuss pertinent ideas with regard to teaching writing to college students. I have missed two of them due to my recent hiring, but the third is approaching, and the "program" will be a bit different. Each of us is supposed to submit for discussion a piece of writing that we have recently completed. The thought almost paralyzes me: actual professional writing teachers casting a critical eye on something I've written? Horrors! It's one thing to pore over student essays with no chance of being held up for scrutiny, but this!
I must admit that since I read about the "assignment" today, I can think of nothing else. I've turned over ideas in my head in a dozen different categories. I've accepted and rejected so many possibilities that I'm afraid it will come down to the old college days: burning the 4 a.m. oil, pounding out a first draft with no time for revision, and sweating through the result.
Or, I could be "sick."
I feel like Tweek from South Park all of a sudden.
Coffee, maybe.