Food is just so weird.
And it's so weird how people relate to it in such vastly different ways.
And seriously, I just love leftovers. When I leave my parents' place after a weekend, my mama sends me home with enough remainders for two days and I am gloriously happy about it, 'cause it means I don't have to think. I think about food too much as it is.
What the difference seemed to be is that my Biff listens to her body and what it wants. She doesn't know what she might be in the mood for the next day, so she doesn't plan her meals ahead. And she would be bored of the same thing two days in a row, so she has no appetite for leftovers.
Whereas I don't trust myself to have that amount of freedom. I assume, with that freedom, I would just go berserk, and stuff my face with pancakes and burgers at every meal if I ate what I was craving, or had to think too much about food. I mean, obviously my Biff doesn't always eat exactly what she's craving, but you know what I'm getting at.
Another topic was my body's cues, and how somewhere along the line, they stopped working. Before I started my magic pills (YAY DRUGS), I would eat and eat and eat for a long fucking time until I got that signal that my body was full---and sometimes past it, which is where the whole "disorder" thing comes in.
We also talked about me and how I relate to food. I confessed to her how, when I take the first bite of anything delicious, I am already sad. Like, overcome with a wave of depression kind of sad. Sad, because that first bite means my food is already almost gone, and that's just the worst.
I'm so silly.