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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;C0MFSXs4eyp7ImA9WhRRFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:50:18.533-08:00</updated><category term="imaginação digitada" /><category term="realidade digitada" /><title>Impressões Digitadas</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>17</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ImpressesDigitadas" /><feedburner:info uri="impressesdigitadas" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D08FR3k6eip7ImA9WxNaEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-6385691486743362654</id><published>2009-11-26T20:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T20:23:36.712-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-26T20:23:36.712-08:00</app:edited><title>O pecado é relativo</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/6385691486743362654/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=6385691486743362654" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6385691486743362654?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6385691486743362654?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/0qYSJWOoYzE/o-pecado-e-relativo.html" title="O pecado é relativo" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;     Normal   0   21         false   false   false                             MicrosoftInternetExplorer4   &amp;lt;![endif]--&amp;gt;&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;     &amp;lt;![endif]--&amp;gt; &amp;lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xEZAI7sHwGKNl0bOGvvF0B7kORo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xEZAI7sHwGKNl0bOGvvF0B7kORo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xEZAI7sHwGKNl0bOGvvF0B7kORo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xEZAI7sHwGKNl0bOGvvF0B7kORo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/0qYSJWOoYzE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2009/11/o-pecado-e-relativo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYBQ3k9eyp7ImA9WxJRGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-4484570819521237317</id><published>2009-03-27T11:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T14:15:52.763-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-20T14:15:52.763-07:00</app:edited><title>A velha história - cap.5</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/4484570819521237317/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=4484570819521237317" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/4484570819521237317?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/4484570819521237317?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/MvQl8Opsvus/velha-historia-cap5.html" title="A velha história - cap.5" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">"Igualzinha. Até a pintura da porta",reparou novamente enquanto apertava a campainha.Ester tinha mania de criar conspirações em sua cabeça e naquele momento pensou que apenas ela e a casa eram as mesmas. Depois se lembrou do M, de sua assinatura feia e deixou o assunto pra lá. " Escrevo sobre isso mais tarde".Uma senhora gorda, desdentada e com um semblante cansado apareceu na janela. Perguntou 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cLLOuwpZbPFmxxsPG5zcJDhICuE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cLLOuwpZbPFmxxsPG5zcJDhICuE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/MvQl8Opsvus" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2009/03/velha-historia-cap5.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QER3w-eCp7ImA9WxJTFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-6754153798310289824</id><published>2009-03-26T17:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T11:55:06.250-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-24T11:55:06.250-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="imaginação digitada" /><title>pré-capítulo: Carta para si mesma</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/6754153798310289824/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=6754153798310289824" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6754153798310289824?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6754153798310289824?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/Yu4TN1dTqX8/pre-capitulo-carta-mim-mesma.html" title="pré-capítulo: Carta para si mesma" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Na mesma noite em que soube do trágico destino de Solange, a menina franzina que queria ganhar o mundo, Ester sentiu uma necessidade enorme de desabafar. E decidiu fazê-lo da maneira que fazia melhor: escrevendo.Como tantas pessoas hoje em dia, ela mantinha um blog. Mas naquele momento, tinha que ser à mão, sentir que sua angústia ficava impressa no papel e a ansiedade dava lugar aos pulsos 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wGuzF0JQhn_QgQJDB0-WZ_mmnSk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wGuzF0JQhn_QgQJDB0-WZ_mmnSk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/Yu4TN1dTqX8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2009/03/pre-capitulo-carta-mim-mesma.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkEDQn8zeip7ImA9WxVVGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-2306955405483554514</id><published>2009-03-12T07:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T07:37:53.182-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-12T07:37:53.182-07:00</app:edited><title>A velha história - cap. 4</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/2306955405483554514/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=2306955405483554514" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/2306955405483554514?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/2306955405483554514?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/ZuAgWx3cfds/velha-historia-cap-4.html" title="A velha história - cap. 4" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;     Normal   0   21                         MicrosoftInternetExplorer4   &amp;lt;![endif]--&amp;gt; &amp;lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:Tahoma; 	panose-1:2 11 6 4 3 5 4 4 2 4; 	mso-font-charset:0; 	mso-generic-font-family:swiss; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:1627421319 -2147483648 8 0 66047 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jjG8MmyEbGVRZQT2GgY3D06A6_0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jjG8MmyEbGVRZQT2GgY3D06A6_0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/ZuAgWx3cfds" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2009/03/velha-historia-cap-4.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YDRXg-eSp7ImA9WxVVEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-7639490866145903864</id><published>2009-02-26T03:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T06:06:14.651-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-03T06:06:14.651-08:00</app:edited><title>A velha história - cap. 3</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/7639490866145903864/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=7639490866145903864" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7639490866145903864?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7639490866145903864?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/UOJE0zg3mVs/velha-historia-cap-3.html" title="A velha história - cap. 3" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Ester ficou ali lendo tudo que Joana contava, meio atônita, meio incrédula. " Será que tudo isso aconteceu em oito anos? Como alguém pode ter vivido tantas coisas em tão pouco tempo?"Pensava assim porque nesse mesmo período tão crucial para Joana, Esterpouco havia feito. Se formou na faculdade, tomou uns porres, trocou de emprego algumas vezes. E sua antiga amiga agora lhe jogava na cara uma 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QeElEmzSKP8RAw4xJHBVyJxDS2A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QeElEmzSKP8RAw4xJHBVyJxDS2A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/UOJE0zg3mVs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2009/02/velha-historia-cap-3.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkIDR3k8fCp7ImA9WxRVGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-7353994446256554564</id><published>2008-11-16T05:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T06:09:36.774-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-16T06:09:36.774-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Ensinamentos da vida</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/7353994446256554564/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=7353994446256554564" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7353994446256554564?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7353994446256554564?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/f5NBhayVIyQ/ensinamentos-da-vida.html" title="Ensinamentos da vida" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Lição 1: nunca julgue.(conversa entre primas)- Alô, Gi? Tudo bem? Sabe o fulano, que desde que virou evangélico vivia dizendo que eu e você íamos pro inferno porque somos "juntadas" e não casadas?- Ah, sim. " Juntado com fé, pecado é", não é isso que ele dizia?- Pois é, menina. A namorada crente dele tá grávida. Os dois estão morando juntos.- Ixi, mais um pra dançar lambada com a gente no inferno
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GGChD-Tv26xFhdMW3iHiJWAG4pI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GGChD-Tv26xFhdMW3iHiJWAG4pI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/f5NBhayVIyQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/11/ensinamentos-da-vida.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQCR3w4eCp7ImA9WxRVE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-4740996580573345530</id><published>2008-11-10T08:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T09:16:06.230-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-10T09:16:06.230-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Quatro pães, um rolo de fita a menos e elegância de sobra.</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/4740996580573345530/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=4740996580573345530" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/4740996580573345530?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/4740996580573345530?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/1GriwSqyqyU/quatro-pes-um-rolo-de-fita-menos-e.html" title="Quatro pães, um rolo de fita a menos e elegância de sobra." /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Desde que comecei a me aventurar nessa coisa de blog, fico mais atenta ao que vejo e ouço. Antes éramos apenas eu e meu Ipod pelas ruas, alheios ao que acontecia ao redor.Agora tenho o cuidado de observar reações e situações e eis o que presenciei no último sábado de manhã , quando saí pra comprar pão no supermercado perto de casa:" Quero quatro paezinhos por favor", disse uma senhora bem idosa 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LeJepBwz3lt5aKRHa__CXljoNDg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LeJepBwz3lt5aKRHa__CXljoNDg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/1GriwSqyqyU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/11/quatro-pes-um-rolo-de-fita-menos-e.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IHQHs7fCp7ImA9WxVWFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-7967989762281693016</id><published>2008-10-18T15:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T03:58:51.504-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-26T03:58:51.504-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="imaginação digitada" /><title>A velha história - cap. 2</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/7967989762281693016/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=7967989762281693016" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7967989762281693016?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7967989762281693016?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/-MeWNPCtPlg/velha-histria-cap-2.html" title="A velha história - cap. 2" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Joana tinha uma vida difícil em Santiago, mas era muito melhor do que o que vivia no Brasil.  Por causa de seu corpo bonito e bem torneado, conseguiu uma vaga de dançarina numa boate.  Não era exatamente o emprego dos seus sonhos, mas pagava as contas.  Seu grupo de capoeira ainda era novo e pouco conhecido e tinha apenas meia dúzia de alunos iniciantes.  " Quando já estiverem mais graduados, 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N594AQ9HHtPX2iM_Htp2jmXwgUI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N594AQ9HHtPX2iM_Htp2jmXwgUI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N594AQ9HHtPX2iM_Htp2jmXwgUI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/N594AQ9HHtPX2iM_Htp2jmXwgUI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/-MeWNPCtPlg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/velha-histria-cap-2.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UDR30yfyp7ImA9WxVWFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-6797272465559619311</id><published>2008-10-18T14:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T03:54:36.397-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-26T03:54:36.397-08:00</app:edited><title>A velha história - cap. 1</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/6797272465559619311/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=6797272465559619311" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6797272465559619311?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6797272465559619311?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/g3p7MBNAszo/velha-histria-cap-1.html" title="A velha história - cap. 1" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Acordou cedo e  ligou o computador antes mesmo de escovar os dentes. Aquela máquina já ultrapassada, que tinha recebido vários upgrades demorava alguns minutos até ficar no ponto para ser usada.Escovou os dentes, fez um café e tirou o pijama, tentando mostrar certa tranquilidade, meio que querendo disfarçar para si mesma a ansiedade.Finalmente o café ficou pronto e o computador também. Entrou no 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/aEAjuMcsE28NYQtk8NI_fsKQzA0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/aEAjuMcsE28NYQtk8NI_fsKQzA0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/g3p7MBNAszo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/velha-histria-cap-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkABSXYyeSp7ImA9WxRXEks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-7481617036019046133</id><published>2008-10-16T17:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T11:39:18.891-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-17T11:39:18.891-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="imaginação digitada" /><title>3x0</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/7481617036019046133/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=7481617036019046133" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7481617036019046133?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/7481617036019046133?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/GPIppp8rkOE/3x0.html" title="3x0" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Foi por causa de um jogo de futebol que tudo aconteceu. Ele resolveu mandar um email para ela depois que o time do seu país perdeu para o time do país dela.     Na verdade, muito já tinha acontecido de fato quando, por causa daquela partida os dois se reencontraram.     Sofia era uma carioca que morava em São Paulo. Pablo era um argentino que morava em Buenos Aires.     Se conheceram há mais de 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Tkoof9cb2vITUYpwu0G_hvsQf6E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Tkoof9cb2vITUYpwu0G_hvsQf6E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/GPIppp8rkOE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/3x0.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YNSHg_fSp7ImA9WxRXEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-2622755214328583619</id><published>2008-10-15T16:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T05:46:39.645-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-16T05:46:39.645-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Pouca vergonha.</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/2622755214328583619/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=2622755214328583619" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/2622755214328583619?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/2622755214328583619?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/TcQoua7abQQ/pouca-vergonha.html" title="Pouca vergonha." /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Situação 1 :    Jornalista, quando ainda não era jornalista e sim uma estudante universitária, conversa com a mãe :   - Ó, fiz uma tatuagem.   - Quê? Não acredito. Tatuagem? Tsc, isso atrapalha pra caramba na hora de procurar emprego, as pessoas enxergam isso como sinal de irresponsabilidade, de rebeldia, de...sei lá, mas não gosto de tatuagem.   - Sério mãe? Então nunca faça uma. Essas coisas 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hkz0CWQTSIZPcy8E_-i_IPAU1MI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hkz0CWQTSIZPcy8E_-i_IPAU1MI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/TcQoua7abQQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/pouca-vergonha.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYBSX48eip7ImA9WxRXEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-6225444733270184050</id><published>2008-09-03T10:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T15:09:18.072-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-14T15:09:18.072-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Me poupe, Herbert Viana.</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/6225444733270184050/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=6225444733270184050" title="5 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6225444733270184050?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/6225444733270184050?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/1VRJKCU8bSg/me-poupe-herbert-viana.html" title="Me poupe, Herbert Viana." /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>5</thr:total><content type="html">Cirurgia de LipoaspiraçãoPelo amor de Deus, eu não quero usar nada nem ninguém,nem falar do que não sei, nem procurar culpados,nem acusar ou apontar pessoas, mas ninguém está percebendoque toda essa busca insana pela estética idealé muito menos lipo-as e muito mais piração?Uma coisa é saúde outra é obsessão.O mundo pirou, enlouqueceu. Hoje, Deus é a auto imagem.Religião, é dieta.Fé, só na 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FBmKKD29ssfHHP_u6Yzz1_Mf9pM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FBmKKD29ssfHHP_u6Yzz1_Mf9pM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FBmKKD29ssfHHP_u6Yzz1_Mf9pM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FBmKKD29ssfHHP_u6Yzz1_Mf9pM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/1VRJKCU8bSg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/me-poupe-herbert-viana.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkYERHc8cCp7ImA9WxRQFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-317244301941097633</id><published>2008-09-01T18:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T15:55:05.978-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-07T15:55:05.978-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Só de mim</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/317244301941097633/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=317244301941097633" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/317244301941097633?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/317244301941097633?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/iRCZ6ujy2AQ/s-de-mim.html" title="Só de mim" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Eu sou assim. Não exatamente uma pessoa normal. Já fui.       Quando era criança,  queria ser como as minhas colegas da escola. Mas não deu. Não gostava das roupas, do comportamento, de nada que vinha delas.   Eu sou assim, do jeito que quero ser. Um dia acordo sensível, no outro com vontade de espancar alguém. Um dia me arrumo e me sinto linda. No outro, nem penteio os cabelos, mas ainda assim 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IOZ9RboCswP6T2NBKM7botMMxDE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IOZ9RboCswP6T2NBKM7botMMxDE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IOZ9RboCswP6T2NBKM7botMMxDE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IOZ9RboCswP6T2NBKM7botMMxDE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/iRCZ6ujy2AQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/09/s-de-mim.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcHSXo4cCp7ImA9WxRQFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-571632253380052086</id><published>2008-06-10T15:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T15:53:58.438-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-07T15:53:58.438-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="imaginação digitada" /><title>Como é mesmo o seu nome?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/571632253380052086/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=571632253380052086" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/571632253380052086?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/571632253380052086?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/bMK1IyySFns/como-mesmo-o-seu-nome.html" title="Como é mesmo o seu nome?" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Nausea.Não, não estou me sentindo mal, não bebi demais no fim de semana, não estou grávida.Nausea é o nome que um casal brasileiro escolheu para batizar seu filho.Bizarro.Meu nome não é muito comum, até hoje só conheci uma outra Gisela. Mas me sinto confortável com meu nome, acho que combina comigo.Mas, imagine se olhar no espelho e dar de cara com você mesmo, o sr. Capítulo.Ou dona Brochura. Ou 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/049TpWFqMtwOs5nh6PM9LjsEilY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/049TpWFqMtwOs5nh6PM9LjsEilY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/049TpWFqMtwOs5nh6PM9LjsEilY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/049TpWFqMtwOs5nh6PM9LjsEilY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/bMK1IyySFns" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/como-mesmo-o-seu-nome.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcERXg7eCp7ImA9WxRQFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-8225466555485436997</id><published>2008-06-04T15:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T15:53:24.600-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-07T15:53:24.600-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Bonito lá, horrível aqui.</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/8225466555485436997/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=8225466555485436997" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/8225466555485436997?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/8225466555485436997?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/Itx_JyNjVdY/bonito-l-horrvel-aqui.html" title="Bonito lá, horrível aqui." /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">“A gente respeita a sua personalidade”. Foi a última coisa que ouvi antes de mudar de canal. Na TV, o comercial do novo shopping center da cidade, o maior da América Latina, dizem por aí.  Que bom. Alguém nesse País respeita minha personalidade, pensei, com um sorrisinho debochado nos lábios.  No mesmo dia, saindo de casa rumo ao dentista, encontrei a vizinha perua do 14 no corredor enquanto 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iLpD8J18MfZdztoqCqw4rvpCC5I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iLpD8J18MfZdztoqCqw4rvpCC5I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/Itx_JyNjVdY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/bonito-l-horrvel-aqui.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04CRXsyeSp7ImA9WxRQFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-8734598108321106899</id><published>2008-05-19T15:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T15:52:44.591-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-07T15:52:44.591-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="realidade digitada" /><title>Desperdício, descaso e a novela das oito</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/8734598108321106899/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=8734598108321106899" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/8734598108321106899?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/8734598108321106899?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/pCiYHWukC9s/desperdcio-descaso-e-novela-das-oito.html" title="Desperdício, descaso e a novela das oito" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Esse mundo está perdido mesmo.  Além da fúria da natureza, com a qual teremos que nos acostumar já que ninguém quer parar de poluir - fúria, aliás, que só aumenta- temos também a crescente onda de violência, de abandono, de fome.  E isso é mais revoltante quando se tem notícia de fatos como o que li hoje cedo no BlueBus: nos Estados Unidos, 27% da comida disponível é jogada no lixo. Fiquei 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q3ndXeqxQD3dkVyXILMlxxl_SsE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q3ndXeqxQD3dkVyXILMlxxl_SsE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/pCiYHWukC9s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/desperdcio-descaso-e-novela-das-oito.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUMQnw7eip7ImA9WxRXEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1600070397843557107.post-2496991697167665570</id><published>2008-05-14T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T15:11:23.202-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-14T15:11:23.202-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="imaginação digitada" /><title>Amargor</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/feeds/2496991697167665570/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1600070397843557107&amp;postID=2496991697167665570" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/2496991697167665570?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1600070397843557107/posts/default/2496991697167665570?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~3/oqXxIzIOPck/amargor-maio-de-2008.html" title="Amargor" /><author><name>Gisela Garcia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aoUVxRWMA3I/SXW-K_QhbuI/AAAAAAAAA-0/mSQnLm0vPjU/S220/gisela11.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Quando acordou, naquela manhã ensolarada, Carol já estava rica, mas não sabia.   Abriu os olhos lentamente, olhou pela janela e pensou: "mais um dia quente e abafado”.  Levantou-se de mau humor com aquela constatação. Escovou os dentes, tomou banho e comeu alguma coisa, nada muito pesado, pois estava de dieta.  Aliás, Carol estava sempre de dieta. E de mau humor. Porque todas as manhãs eram 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UpSVmIcG5qF_RgOsc-D7uwUG_qs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UpSVmIcG5qF_RgOsc-D7uwUG_qs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ImpressesDigitadas/~4/oqXxIzIOPck" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://minhasimpressoesdigitadas.blogspot.com/2008/10/amargor-maio-de-2008.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

