On The Endless Rejection of the Humanities

I tried my best to cheer her up.  She'd been rejected from an summer internship at the university literary journal, one for which I'd helped edit her cover letter.  She was a few years older than my other students; she'd worked awhile in that most eminently safe and recommended of careers, health care, before she finally decided she'd had it, that life's too short to merely help others prolong theirs, so she would instead pursue her desires to become a writer.  Folks with the c...