Every September, I dream (usually several nights in a row) that I must repeat high school. I get lost in a labyrinthine building and arrive late for class. Teacher castigates me; classmates snicker. Then, I realize I’m not wearing pants. You don’t have to be a Jungian analyst to surmise that I’m still working through some residual dread inspired by high school—math, chemistry, and gym classes, in particular. College was…