“All I ever wanted/ Was for you/ To know that I care...,” I yowled, trying to sound like Axl Rose, alone inside my car. I playacted -not just singing along with the radio, but pointing to nonexistent guitarists to play the solo. Still singing the same songs I did when I was 17-pathetic. I look like a nut- gesturing to people that aren’t there- but for a moment, I feel 17. Why do this? The tenuous hold I have on adulthood- the technical standard I meet that feels like it can be withdrawn at any time.