She slammed into the table with a yelp. It was clear she was buzzing. I tried helping her into a chair but she immediately kicked with her legs using all her might. I let go, scared she would get hurt. She wailed, squirming on the floor. After a moment she scrambled up. We weren't sure which way she'd go next, but it was down the hall with a cackle. We tried offering her food to eat but her rejections were adamant. "NO". She tore off into the other room, eventually sitting at a desk. She found a book and furiously scribbled through the pages with whatever implements she could lay her hands on. Her inscriptions left barely identifiable shapes in the books, but she seemed unbothered with specifics. The marks were of pure energy, unbounded by socially accepted norms of art. She muttered something that sounded like water but refused it when offered. With persistence I got her to accept a muffin, but before long she had thrown it aggressively to the ground. "NO. This?" She pointed at my water glass. I offered it to her and she gulped it, showing a thirst that must have been present moments earlier when she defiantly rejected it from another vessel. Sometimes it's not what, it's how.
