<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642</id><updated>2011-11-21T23:19:33.395Z</updated><category term='xana'/><category term='uwc'/><category term='ferias'/><category term='si'/><category term='ednos'/><category term='perfeccionismo'/><category term='obcessao'/><category term='mortagua'/><category term='sarcasmo'/><category term='paranoia'/><category term='tiago'/><category term='ricardo'/><category term='david'/><category term='ju'/><title type='text'>Elated, medicated.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>43</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7896850056956919561</id><published>2011-11-21T23:12:00.002Z</published><updated>2011-11-21T23:19:33.402Z</updated><title type='text'>Casa Pré-Fabricada</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_loqtqzGLk01qz4d4bo1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 334px;" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_loqtqzGLk01qz4d4bo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu já nem sei mais o que eu quero.&lt;br /&gt;Só sei que vem aquela saudade de repente, eu nem sei bem do quê... mas eu só queria que fosse tudo como antes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Só que eu já nem sei quando era o antes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então eu acho que quero que seja tudo como depois.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7896850056956919561?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7896850056956919561/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7896850056956919561&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7896850056956919561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7896850056956919561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/11/casa-pre-fabricada.html' title='Casa Pré-Fabricada'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-5272353391036660832</id><published>2011-06-08T12:35:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T12:37:09.075+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>.</title><content type='html'>I still read everything you write and pretend it's really about me, even though I know it's not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-5272353391036660832?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/5272353391036660832/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=5272353391036660832&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5272353391036660832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5272353391036660832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/06/blog-post.html' title='.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3061759998372017100</id><published>2011-04-17T19:56:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-04-17T19:56:55.988+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I got the point that I should leave you alone, but we both know that I'm not that strong.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3061759998372017100?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3061759998372017100/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3061759998372017100&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3061759998372017100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3061759998372017100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-got-point-that-i-should-leave-you.html' title='I got the point that I should leave you alone, but we both know that I&apos;m not that strong.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-6231380418316004829</id><published>2011-03-02T23:47:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-03-02T23:56:50.831Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>The End.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-YEv47eRX8/TW7ZJ3g8jbI/AAAAAAAAAFk/rVXd10rrC4Y/s1600/Picture%2B87.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-YEv47eRX8/TW7ZJ3g8jbI/AAAAAAAAAFk/rVXd10rrC4Y/s400/Picture%2B87.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579635751902809522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;If it is over, there is no reason for this blog anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You always knew, better than me, that the whole purpose of this blog was to keep you updated on how I was doing, since nobody else came here at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is good and you don't have to worry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you. Our love was the strangest thing I've ever experienced in my life, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to get over it and just love someone else the same way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still need to be with you. As soon as I can. I made that promise, and I need that.&lt;br /&gt;It won't be over until we meet in person. That's the only thing I need to feel safe enough to close this chapter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for everything. You filled my heart with passion and my mind with thoughts. I wasn't always happy, but I felt alive. I know that when I look back into my life, those late night talks will be on the back of my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you. It's time for me to leave, now.&lt;br /&gt;Next time we talk, I'll be at your door. I don't know when will that be, but I can guarantee you that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"And in the darkest nights if my memory serves me right&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'll never turn back time, forgetting you but not the time."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-6231380418316004829?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/6231380418316004829/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=6231380418316004829&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/6231380418316004829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/6231380418316004829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/03/end.html' title='The End.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-YEv47eRX8/TW7ZJ3g8jbI/AAAAAAAAAFk/rVXd10rrC4Y/s72-c/Picture%2B87.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-4349596638747689233</id><published>2011-02-18T12:40:00.005Z</published><updated>2011-02-18T12:49:27.880Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>Lisbon Revisited</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mgOVqVIpCA/TV5o64L1lAI/AAAAAAAAAFU/sNz1lnry5fk/s1600/tsc.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 636px; height: 325px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mgOVqVIpCA/TV5o64L1lAI/AAAAAAAAAFU/sNz1lnry5fk/s400/tsc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575008749454988290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ó mágoa revisitada, Lisboa de outrora de hoje!&lt;br /&gt;Nada me dais, nada me tirais, nada sois que eu me sinta.&lt;br /&gt;Deixem-me em paz! Não tardo, que eu nunca tardo...&lt;br /&gt;E enquanto tarda o Abismo e o Silêncio quero estar sozinho!"&lt;br /&gt;1923/2006&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Outra vez te revejo,&lt;br /&gt;Mas, ai, a mim não me revejo!&lt;br /&gt;Partiu-se o espelho mágico em que me revia idêntico,&lt;br /&gt;E em cada fragmento fatídico vejo só um bocado de mim -&lt;br /&gt;Um bocado de ti e de mim!..."&lt;br /&gt;1926/2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-4349596638747689233?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/4349596638747689233/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=4349596638747689233&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/4349596638747689233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/4349596638747689233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/02/lisbon-revisited.html' title='Lisbon Revisited'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mgOVqVIpCA/TV5o64L1lAI/AAAAAAAAAFU/sNz1lnry5fk/s72-c/tsc.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-634854539166918765</id><published>2011-02-05T16:08:00.002Z</published><updated>2011-02-05T16:14:13.449Z</updated><title type='text'>Farewell, Alexander Search, 1907</title><content type='html'>"Farewell, farewell for ever!&lt;br /&gt;I cannot more remain;&lt;br /&gt;Far wider things our hearts do sever&lt;br /&gt;Than continent or main -&lt;br /&gt;Pride and distance and inaptness&lt;br /&gt;To feel each other's joy, distress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Farewell, farewell for ever!&lt;br /&gt;Be it not said by thee&lt;br /&gt;My heart was weaker, thy heart braver&lt;br /&gt;In mutual misery.&lt;br /&gt;But parted were we, be it said,&lt;br /&gt;As are the living from the dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Farewell, farewell for ever!&lt;br /&gt;Since love leaves not behind&lt;br /&gt;Not even friendship, nor endeavour,&lt;br /&gt;Nor sorrow wild or kind...&lt;br /&gt;'Tis fit indeed those souls be parted&lt;br /&gt;That cannot e'er be broken-hearted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Farewell, farewell for ever!&lt;br /&gt;'Tis time this thing were done,&lt;br /&gt;When love is cold which was a fever&lt;br /&gt;And vulgar as a stone,&lt;br /&gt;When life from woe to woe doth flee&lt;br /&gt;And change itself is misery."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-634854539166918765?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/634854539166918765/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=634854539166918765&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/634854539166918765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/634854539166918765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/02/farewell-alexander-search-1907.html' title='Farewell, Alexander Search, 1907'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-1699581783645871645</id><published>2011-02-05T15:54:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-02-05T15:58:27.889Z</updated><title type='text'>Souvenir, by Alexander Search, 1904 *</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;“&lt;span class="quote"&gt;How sweetly sad it is sometimes to hear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Some old loved sound to memory recalled,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; To see, as if in dreams, some old dear face,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Some landscape’s stretch, some field, some dale, some stream,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; A memory so sudden, sad and pleasent,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Aught that recalls the days of happy youth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt;           Then spring in happy pain the tears that wait,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt;Those subtle tears that wait on thought, and all - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Field, stream and voice - all that we hear or see - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Goes from the sense, adorned with mem’ry’s hand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; And merges slowly into dreamy light.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt;           I wake; alas! by dreams I was betrayed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; ‘Tis but a semblance that I feel and hear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Because the past, alas! cannot return.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; These fields are not the fields I knew, these sounds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; Are not the sounds I knew; all those are gone,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="quote"&gt; And all the past - alas! cannot return.&lt;/span&gt;”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*which pretty much means: Pessoa wrote this fucking awesome shit at 16.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-1699581783645871645?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/1699581783645871645/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=1699581783645871645&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1699581783645871645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1699581783645871645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/02/alexander-search-1904.html' title='Souvenir, by Alexander Search, 1904 *'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-8575075553165779781</id><published>2011-01-20T18:14:00.005Z</published><updated>2011-01-20T18:28:11.647Z</updated><title type='text'>Slumdog Millionaire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.firstshowing.net/img/slumdog-millionaire-FL-01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 560px; height: 374px;" src="http://www.firstshowing.net/img/slumdog-millionaire-FL-01.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;What makes it worth to live?&lt;br /&gt;Is it love?&lt;br /&gt;Is it money?&lt;br /&gt;Is it the never ending quest for happiness?&lt;br /&gt;Or is it all just about the same in the end?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We justify ourselves in many different ways.&lt;br /&gt;I'm a real master at making up excuses.&lt;br /&gt;But if no one knows what are we here for, what is keeping us from enjoying life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poets, musicians, actors, have made history with their lives.&lt;br /&gt;They were not even given a chance to speak out about it.&lt;br /&gt;What makes us believe that the poetry we read on our English classes, the music we play, the life stories we read about people that are now dead, would please the ones who can't speak for themselves now?&lt;br /&gt;Why is it, that we assume everybody wants to be famous?&lt;br /&gt;Do they?&lt;br /&gt;Do you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What makes them more suitable for it?&lt;br /&gt;A different life?&lt;br /&gt;A special talent?&lt;br /&gt;Luck?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that when we watch a completely crazy love story in the cinema, we always root for the protagonists, we always want them to be together in the end, but we would never advice a friend to do such craziness for a loved one?&lt;br /&gt;Why do those things always seem incredibly far away, like it could never actually be true for someone like us?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that everyone tears their eyes when watching a love story, of a boy and a girl who wait for years for each other, and yet&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure no one would ever support me if I decided to get on a plane right now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all like to dream.&lt;br /&gt;Why do we get scared when we're a part of it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-8575075553165779781?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/8575075553165779781/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=8575075553165779781&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8575075553165779781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8575075553165779781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/01/slumdog-millionaire.html' title='Slumdog Millionaire'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3543853103458413184</id><published>2011-01-16T19:45:00.002Z</published><updated>2011-01-16T19:46:40.675Z</updated><title type='text'>Os Famosos e os Duendes da Morte</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TTNLCDO3IfI/AAAAAAAAAFI/Sg88SUZsU84/s1600/Os.Famosos.DVDRip.RMVB.LeandroPark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 508px; height: 205px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TTNLCDO3IfI/AAAAAAAAAFI/Sg88SUZsU84/s400/Os.Famosos.DVDRip.RMVB.LeandroPark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562872463332155890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3543853103458413184?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3543853103458413184/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3543853103458413184&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3543853103458413184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3543853103458413184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/01/os-famosos-e-os-duendes-da-morte.html' title='Os Famosos e os Duendes da Morte'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TTNLCDO3IfI/AAAAAAAAAFI/Sg88SUZsU84/s72-c/Os.Famosos.DVDRip.RMVB.LeandroPark.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-1162486474795961555</id><published>2011-01-13T21:39:00.006Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T21:50:22.361Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Obrigação/Meu Amor Não Fiques Para Aí A Dormir</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Jorge Palma&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jt0aZ9KQ2eg/TKCEuyNNFuI/AAAAAAAAMi8/VpXhhTawaOk/s1600/palma.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 518px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jt0aZ9KQ2eg/TKCEuyNNFuI/AAAAAAAAMi8/VpXhhTawaOk/s1600/palma.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Sim, meu amor, está bem meu amor&lt;br /&gt;eu sei que tu tens razão&lt;br /&gt;- dizia-te eu, às vezes, para acabar&lt;br /&gt;com a discussão...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E lá íamos vivendo,&lt;br /&gt;entre dois copos e um bom colchão,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;um futuro à nossa frente &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; e muito amor para mostrar a toda a gente. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Como era bem vivermos a dois &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; sem nos darmos mal &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(uma canção estrangeira e um filme antigo&lt;br /&gt;no telejornal),&lt;br /&gt;e uma noite tu disseste:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;já dei p´ra ti meu... vou arrancar! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E lá fiquei eu, sozinho,&lt;br /&gt;a conversar com os meus botões e a tentar&lt;br /&gt;descobrir a causa&lt;br /&gt;que nos levou a tal situação...&lt;br /&gt;Já achei uma ideia que é bem capaz&lt;br /&gt;de ser a solução:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Acho que nós passamos muito tempo &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; a misturar tripas com coração &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; e a verdade é bem diferente. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Para haver amor não pode haver o-briga-ção.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meu amor,&lt;br /&gt;parece que &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;eu agora vou seguir sem ti &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;subir e descer, &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; correr na lama e voar outra vez... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sei muito bem onde quero chegar&lt;br /&gt;e sei que não há tempo a perder&lt;br /&gt;- &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;que a tua voz me possa encorajar! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Meu amor, &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; agora não fiques para ai a dormir... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Um fato de marinheiro &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; não chega para se entender o mar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Espero que aprendas bem a remar &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e espero que a luz do teu farol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; te possa sempre iluminar!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-1162486474795961555?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/1162486474795961555/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=1162486474795961555&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1162486474795961555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1162486474795961555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/01/obrigacaomeu-amor-nao-fiques-para-ai.html' title='Obrigação/Meu Amor Não Fiques Para Aí A Dormir'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jt0aZ9KQ2eg/TKCEuyNNFuI/AAAAAAAAMi8/VpXhhTawaOk/s72-c/palma.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-429765457003935377</id><published>2011-01-09T13:57:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-01-09T14:08:17.318Z</updated><title type='text'>As vidas dos outros</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TSm_spcguCI/AAAAAAAAAFA/Ga_hpNxGw64/s1600/asvidasdosoutros.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 295px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TSm_spcguCI/AAAAAAAAAFA/Ga_hpNxGw64/s400/asvidasdosoutros.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560185988726175778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Há algo que me preocupa imenso nas pessoas, e é o facto de elas se preocuparem imenso com a vida dos outros.&lt;br /&gt;Deixa-me especialmente irritada basearem a opinião que têm de alguém no numero de pessoas com quem curtiu ou fodeu. Como se fossem proporções opostas. Cada um sabe de si. Cada um sabe o que quer. Só porque alguns querem alguém para casar, não é razão para outros não quererem simplesmente alguém com quem se divertir.&lt;br /&gt;E eu já fiz parte desse coro! Há uns meros 2 anos atrás, era eu quem me queixava de andarem aos beijos sem quererem nada sério um com o outro! Mas aprendi que a maneira como eu vejo as coisas não tem de ser a maneira como todos vêm. Aprendi que há quem esteja mais confortável sem ter nada sério e há quem só se sinta bem sabendo que há um futuro com a outra pessoa. Não faz com que uma opção seja mais válida do que a outra.&lt;br /&gt;Preocupa-me ainda que se estiverem ao pé de mim a dizer mal de alguém por ter curtido com 30 numa noite ou fodido com o outro depois de 3 minutos de conversa todos concordem comigo quando digo que não vejo nada de mal nisso desde que os dois queiram o mesmo. Para mim só mostra que ninguém tem realmente opinião quanto a nada.&lt;br /&gt;Enfim, só um desabafo. Acho que já é altura de acabar com esses preconceitos e tabus, mas mais do que isso, acho que todos deviam mas é olhar para os seus próprios problemas e não para os dos outros, ou ainda, criar problemas a quem nunca os teve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-429765457003935377?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/429765457003935377/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=429765457003935377&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/429765457003935377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/429765457003935377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/01/as-vidas-dos-outros.html' title='As vidas dos outros'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TSm_spcguCI/AAAAAAAAAFA/Ga_hpNxGw64/s72-c/asvidasdosoutros.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7289578279403767865</id><published>2011-01-08T09:20:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:44:03.381Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>Wicked Game</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bbb.blogs.sapo.pt/arquivo/chris_wickedgame%20copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="http://bbb.blogs.sapo.pt/arquivo/chris_wickedgame%20copy.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;O que doi mais sao as brigas que nao tivemos. Como aquela por eu ter chegado tarde sem avisar, ou por me teres visto a trocar olhares com outro rapaz. O que doi mais sao as vezes que nao me encostaste a parede, as vezes que nao ficamos a olhar um para o outro sem saber o que dizer. O que doi mais sao os sorrisos que eu nao vi, as lagrimas que nao pude limpar. Aqueles dias frios em que nao vimos filmes e aquelas vezes em que nao fomos passear.&lt;br /&gt;O que doi mais é o que nao tivemos, e doi mais ainda porque o que nao foi ja nunca sera. Pode-se repetir, mas nunca voltar. O que passou, ja foi.&lt;br /&gt;E o que doi mais nao é nao estar contigo agora ou nao saber quando vou estar. O que doi mais é nao ter estado.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7289578279403767865?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7289578279403767865/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7289578279403767865&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7289578279403767865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7289578279403767865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2011/01/wicked-game.html' title='Wicked Game'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7518599559927731766</id><published>2010-12-25T22:37:00.004Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:43:49.624Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>Homecoming</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lbybw23r9g1qdzy3po1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 376px;" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lbybw23r9g1qdzy3po1_500.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lc7eky4u3E1qbdasvo1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It does feel like coming home, after being away for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't do it any other way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7518599559927731766?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7518599559927731766/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7518599559927731766&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7518599559927731766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7518599559927731766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/12/homecoming.html' title='Homecoming'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3681556485211627968</id><published>2010-12-12T14:46:00.005Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:43:38.155Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Snuff.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/OzFJv5-JjdM/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/OzFJv5-JjdM/0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It's weird, because when David broke up with me I was like... I thought I would never do that to anyone. Like, breaking up with someone without an actual visible reason. But I just did it. And now I definitely get it. You can say that you can work through things even if you don't feel the same, but sometimes it's just not worth it. Sometimes you just know it won't be worth it in the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still love Ricardo, but I can't do this right now. I'm not in love anymore, and I can't lie to myself anymore about that. Things have been going downhill from there and they would only be getting worst, and it's not worth it. It's not worth it when I'm only 17 and have a whole lot more to live. It could be worth it if I was 28 or 30 and wanted to get married and settle down. Then, sure, I probably would stick with him and make things work. But not right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to go through a "slut" phase, I want to go through a "forever alone" phase, I want to focus on school for a while, I want a lot of things that I can't have as long as I have a boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's why I don't regret anything. It was probably the best fucking year of my life. But you need to know when it's time to end it. You need to know when it's time to leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And right now, it's time to leave. It's time for me not to hold on to it anymore, 'cause I don't need it now. I am strong enough to be alone. I am strong enough to do a lot of things. He made me trust myself a lot more, he made me be proud of myself a lot more, and I'll forever be grateful of that. But he deserves someone who cares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3681556485211627968?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3681556485211627968/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3681556485211627968&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3681556485211627968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3681556485211627968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/12/snuff.html' title='Snuff.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7881698880595522350</id><published>2010-12-06T20:56:00.004Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:43:23.352Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>"All I know is that I love you too much to walk away."</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.starpulse.com/news/bloggers/24/blog_images/love-the-way-you-lie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 563px; height: 293px;" src="http://images.starpulse.com/news/bloggers/24/blog_images/love-the-way-you-lie.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,&lt;br /&gt;But that's alright because I like the way it hurts.&lt;br /&gt;Just gonna stand there and hear me cry,&lt;br /&gt;But that's alright because I love the way you lie."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7881698880595522350?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7881698880595522350/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7881698880595522350&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7881698880595522350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7881698880595522350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/12/all-i-know-is-that-i-love-you-too-much.html' title='&quot;All I know is that I love you too much to walk away.&quot;'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7721339479579908337</id><published>2010-11-22T22:09:00.005Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:43:09.748Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>Jimmy.</title><content type='html'>"I wish we had officially dated."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TOrsRFerDEI/AAAAAAAAAEw/gNXrzQQOrKY/s1600/DSC01349.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TOrsRFerDEI/AAAAAAAAAEw/gNXrzQQOrKY/s320/DSC01349.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542502069705575490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I knew what I mean to you,&lt;br /&gt;what I used to mean to you,&lt;br /&gt;what were we.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I knew if you still think about me,&lt;br /&gt;if there's a part of you that wants to go back there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I still knew you.&lt;br /&gt;I wish we were the same.&lt;br /&gt;I wish time went by slower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had never met you,&lt;br /&gt;then I wouldn't have to miss you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish things had been different,&lt;br /&gt;but I wouldn't make them any different if I went back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish there was a chance,&lt;br /&gt;but I know there isn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could trust myself.&lt;br /&gt;I wish my thoughts didn't lead me there,&lt;br /&gt;all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had ever had you.&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had ever understood you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish you were mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7721339479579908337?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7721339479579908337/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7721339479579908337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7721339479579908337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7721339479579908337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/11/jimmy.html' title='Jimmy.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TOrsRFerDEI/AAAAAAAAAEw/gNXrzQQOrKY/s72-c/DSC01349.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7815165099887086519</id><published>2010-11-09T12:54:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-11-09T12:54:13.775Z</updated><title type='text'>What do you want to do with your life? Family, career, personal goals, etc.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="formspringmeAnswer"&gt;well, I am still in an age where I like to daydream and think that what I daydream is possible. I do change my mind very often, though. I'd really like to pursue a career in diplomacy, and while I thought that it would be too hard to conciliate that with having a family, my mother has conveniently showed her interest in travel around the world with me to babysit her grandchildren. LOL. since I know that a career in diplomacy is not something that happens overnight, I'd like to be a translator aswell, or while I try to be a diplomat. Since portuguese is gaining more influence because of Brazil (and I can fake a brazilian accent if that's needed! LOL.), and I'm already fluent in English, I could be a portuguese translator in England or Usa, for example, but I'd also like to learn Chinese and Japanese. I just know it will be hard for me to become fluent at those languages if I start learning them at 18, without having much contact at all with either so far. &lt;br /&gt;Family wise, as I said, I want to have kids. I'm not sure if I want to get married, but even if I don't actually get married, I want a partner. someone to be there for me and to grow old with. &lt;br /&gt;Other than that, I'd like to travel as much as I can, really, and try to contribute to stoping racism and intolerance, and basically any prejudice in the world, in some way.&lt;br /&gt;I guess that's pretty much all that I have right now. I'll build my future while it happens, nothing is written in stone yet.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="formspringmeFooter"&gt;    &lt;a href="http://formspring.me/ritadani?utm_medium=social&amp;utm_source=blogger&amp;utm_campaign=shareanswer"&gt;Ask me anything&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7815165099887086519?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7815165099887086519/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7815165099887086519&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7815165099887086519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7815165099887086519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/11/what-do-you-want-to-do-with-your-life.html' title='What do you want to do with your life? Family, career, personal goals, etc.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-6526640788873884186</id><published>2010-08-29T14:00:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:42:49.842Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>À minha maneira.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/THpa3ZXOT5I/AAAAAAAAAEg/xmWdJAF5i-k/s1600/Imagem0180.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/THpa3ZXOT5I/AAAAAAAAAEg/xmWdJAF5i-k/s320/Imagem0180.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510817001788821394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Eu gostava bastante que alguém me explicasse porque é que quando eu chego à festa o brasileiro está a gritar "Porto Alegre" como se não houvesse amanhã.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A única razão que encontro é que ele não tem grande amor à vida, porque a minha vontade foi dar-lhe um estalo para o calar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-6526640788873884186?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/6526640788873884186/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=6526640788873884186&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/6526640788873884186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/6526640788873884186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/08/minha-maneira.html' title='À minha maneira.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/THpa3ZXOT5I/AAAAAAAAAEg/xmWdJAF5i-k/s72-c/Imagem0180.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-9031939362283563723</id><published>2010-06-24T22:36:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-26T15:21:18.382+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Over You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TCYMviCL-UI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/NmResvnZ574/s1600/Imagem0390.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TCYMviCL-UI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/NmResvnZ574/s320/Imagem0390.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487087206726891842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l4jf9yfIG21qb9ixao1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Now that it's all said and done,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I can't believe you were the one&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To build me up then tear me down,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like an old abandoned house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And What you said when you left&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just left me cold and out of breath.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fell too far, was in way too deep&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess I let you get the best of me...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I never saw it coming&lt;br /&gt;I should've started running&lt;br /&gt;A long, long time ago&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And I never thought to doubt you,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm better off without you&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More than you, more than you know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm slowly getting closure&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's really over&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I'm finally getting better&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm picking up the pieces&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I'm spending all of these years&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Putting my heart back together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause the day I thought I'd never get through,&lt;br /&gt;I got over you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You took a hammer to these walls,&lt;br /&gt;Dragged the memories down the hall,&lt;br /&gt;Packed your bags and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;There was nothing I could say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And when you slammed the front door shut,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of others opened up,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;So did my eyes so I could see&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;That you never were the best for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I never saw it coming&lt;br /&gt;I should've started running&lt;br /&gt;A long, long time ago&lt;br /&gt;And I never thought to doubt you,&lt;br /&gt;I'm better off without you&lt;br /&gt;More than you, more than you know&lt;br /&gt;I'm slowly getting closure&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's really over&lt;br /&gt;I'm finally getting better&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm picking up the pieces&lt;br /&gt;I'm spending all of these years&lt;br /&gt;Putting my heart back together.&lt;br /&gt;'Cause the day I thought I'd never get through,&lt;br /&gt;I got over you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I never saw it coming&lt;br /&gt;I should've started running&lt;br /&gt;A long, long time ago&lt;br /&gt;And I never thought to doubt you,&lt;br /&gt;I'm better off without you&lt;br /&gt;More than you, more than you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I never saw it coming&lt;br /&gt;I should've started running&lt;br /&gt;A long, long time ago&lt;br /&gt;And I never thought to doubt you,&lt;br /&gt;I’m better off without you&lt;br /&gt;More than you, more than you know.&lt;br /&gt;I'm slowly getting closure&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's really over&lt;br /&gt;I'm finally getting better&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm picking up the pieces&lt;br /&gt;I'm spending all of these years&lt;br /&gt;Putting my heart back together.&lt;br /&gt;I'm putting my heart back together,&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I got over you.&lt;br /&gt;I got over you,&lt;br /&gt;I got over you,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'Cause the day I thought I'd never get through,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;I got over you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-9031939362283563723?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/9031939362283563723/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=9031939362283563723&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/9031939362283563723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/9031939362283563723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/06/over-you.html' title='Over You'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/TCYMviCL-UI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/NmResvnZ574/s72-c/Imagem0390.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-2422708337903059113</id><published>2010-05-27T22:02:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:42:16.229Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>A Day Late</title><content type='html'>For some reason sometimes I can't stop myself.&lt;br /&gt;It's not even like I'm not over it yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a way, he was and will always be more than a boyfriend, even if we never officially dated, and, like he himself says, he was never mine.&lt;br /&gt;But at the same time, I get the same kind of nostalgia when thinking about him that I get when thinking about an ex. I know it's wrong to miss the love, caring, the touch, but I can't help it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go through pages and pages of his recent notes, trying to get every glampse of him that I can, just to make sure he's still there.&lt;br /&gt;To make sure he's still the same person. The same one that I loved.&lt;br /&gt;I need to know that he's not fading away. I need to know if he's still as I remember him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I talk about this with other people, sometimes I keep it to myself.&lt;br /&gt;The only person who should be mad about it, Ricardo, is the one that understands me the most. And that makes me feel funny, because I could only expect him to be mad. I'm used to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep on making the same mistakes over and over again.&lt;br /&gt;Self-injury in a physical way, doesn't hurt much. But I keep injuring myself everytime I look at his pictures, everytime I go through his notes, everytime I attempt to talk to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does it have to be this way?&lt;br /&gt;I'm as sure as I can be that I don't have feelings for him anymore, so why?&lt;br /&gt;I just want my friend back. And I can't have that.&lt;br /&gt;I know that I can't. Because with that comes so much more that I just can't handle...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm weak. I'm much too weak. I wish, I really wish I could handle him.&lt;br /&gt;I can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I surround myself with people that treat me well, that spoil me sometimes, because my own dissertations are already too much for me to handle.&lt;br /&gt;I spend half my days trying not to think.&lt;br /&gt;I can't have someone to make me think even more. I can't.&lt;br /&gt;But I want it. I want someone who can relate. I want someone to make me feel like I'm not absolutely crazy for some stuff. I need someone to wake me up sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need him. So badly right now.&lt;br /&gt;But I just can't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-2422708337903059113?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/2422708337903059113/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=2422708337903059113&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/2422708337903059113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/2422708337903059113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/05/day-late.html' title='A Day Late'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-8359927570961645344</id><published>2010-05-25T21:58:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T21:58:29.436+01:00</updated><title type='text'>formspring.me</title><content type='html'>Ask me anything &lt;a href="http://formspring.me/ritadani" target="_blank"&gt;http://formspring.me/ritadani&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-8359927570961645344?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/8359927570961645344/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=8359927570961645344&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8359927570961645344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8359927570961645344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/05/formspringme.html' title='formspring.me'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-1747748426145333077</id><published>2010-03-08T21:10:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:41:11.654Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='si'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ednos'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Open Your Eyes.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S5VqvU6fxDI/AAAAAAAAAEI/pIg--_HNhxg/s1600-h/Picture+56.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 382px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S5VqvU6fxDI/AAAAAAAAAEI/pIg--_HNhxg/s400/Picture+56.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446376685674939442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Lately, I'm not quite myself,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Maybe, I do need some time,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Just my confusion, trust my delusion,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Don't you regret you met me,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Go through these steps to get me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Back to where we start, before I fall apart..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wish someone would understand just how bad this has become.&lt;br /&gt;Just how close I am to being completely fucked up.&lt;br /&gt;I can even imagine how fucked up I would be by now if I lived on my own.&lt;br /&gt;I hope I never live on my own, or else I think I would die.&lt;br /&gt;But at the same time, I want it, because I want that power, I want to have that control over my life, I want to be able to do all the shit that I know it's hurting me and everyone that loves me, but just feels kinda good inside.&lt;br /&gt;Starving feels good. It feels like I acomplished something. Not that I ever tried it for very long. But skipping a meal feels empowering, and I kinda wish I could do it more often.&lt;br /&gt;I really, really miss cutting. It would take my mind away from everything, and I loved to see the blood. I feel so close to relapsing and I know the only reason that it hasn't happened yet is because I would never, ever, betray and hurt Ricardo that way. Not him. He deserves more. He deserves better than me. He deserves someone he doesn't need to calm down every week.&lt;br /&gt;I hate bursting in tears on the phone for no reason. I just wish I could have a hug to make it all feel better. But I don't. I really don't have anyone here to hug me when I'm down, right now.&lt;br /&gt;Ricardo is much too far away, and how I hate that. David lately kinda ignores me and even when he doesn't, he is clueless about what to do. I have no idea when was it that he stopped getting me, but he did. He can't see right through me anymore, and I really miss that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's really so much that I miss... I miss things being simple, more than anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss the time when I had nothing to worry about, really. Damn, I made the biggest troubles by myself back then.&lt;br /&gt;I still do that, a bit.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I didn't change that much.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-1747748426145333077?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/1747748426145333077/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=1747748426145333077&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1747748426145333077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1747748426145333077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/03/open-your-eyes.html' title='Open Your Eyes.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S5VqvU6fxDI/AAAAAAAAAEI/pIg--_HNhxg/s72-c/Picture+56.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-972630508046220122</id><published>2010-02-24T21:48:00.004Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:40:26.313Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>Perfeita Simetria</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S4Wf8to4drI/AAAAAAAAAEA/iO6mK6RUl-s/s1600-h/Imagem0076.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S4Wf8to4drI/AAAAAAAAAEA/iO6mK6RUl-s/s400/Imagem0076.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441931590139147954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;até parece que consigo ouvir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;O teu maior defeito&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talvez seja a perfeição&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuas virtudes&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talvez não tenham solução&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então pegue o telefone&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ou um avião&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deixe de lado&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os compromissos marcados&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perdoa o que puder ser perdoado&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esquece o que não tiver perdão&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  E vamos voltar aquele lugar&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;vamos voltar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu não consigo enterrar o passado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;e odeio-me por isso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-972630508046220122?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/972630508046220122/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=972630508046220122&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/972630508046220122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/972630508046220122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/02/perfeita-simetria.html' title='Perfeita Simetria'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S4Wf8to4drI/AAAAAAAAAEA/iO6mK6RUl-s/s72-c/Imagem0076.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3224919798682739485</id><published>2010-02-16T10:33:00.004Z</published><updated>2010-02-16T10:47:53.266Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Must Have Done Something Right</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;pre  style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Your boyfriend looks like he's out of your league."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S3p3jaZXV4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/HPpqhi2QkIs/s1600-h/Sem+t%C3%ADtulo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 303px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S3p3jaZXV4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/HPpqhi2QkIs/s400/Sem+t%C3%ADtulo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438790950268131202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;now thank you. absolutely THANK YOU.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; /irony&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I hate to be so crushed by stuff like this. I know I do deserve him. I know I do deserve to be happy.  But I'm also aware that he is definitely more than I can afford.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always had the hottest guys as my boyfriends and I never quite figured WHY. Better, I always had the hottest boyfriends who had no idea they were hot until they dated me. I'm always the one to make them see it. And once they see it, they become even hotter, and they realize how much of a piece of shit I really am, and how much better they deserve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in the end, that's probably why I'm always sure that everyone will leave me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't care who the fuck wrote the forsmpring, but you nailed it. Straight onto my weak spot. Because I'm perfectly aware that he keeps doing more and more things for me and I can't give him anything back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he loves me. I know he does. I know he's true in everything he tells me. And you know what? YES, I am VERY lucky to have him. But I do have him. He's mine, he loves me, he's faithful, he's perfect. And it already took me more than 4 damn months to really believe that, don't make me doubt it again when I was finally starting to let myself be loved. PLEASE. Because I do deserve this. I may not be perfect, but I do think I'm pretty, and I do think I'm worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm grateful to have him, I recognize how lucky I am, thank you. We love each other, that's what matters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3224919798682739485?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3224919798682739485/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3224919798682739485&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3224919798682739485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3224919798682739485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/02/must-have-done-something-right.html' title='Must Have Done Something Right'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/S3p3jaZXV4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/HPpqhi2QkIs/s72-c/Sem+t%C3%ADtulo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-5131415967613648747</id><published>2010-02-10T18:39:00.005Z</published><updated>2011-01-13T12:41:51.454Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>Fall for Anything</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.glitter-graphics.com/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://dl5.glitter-graphics.net/pub/874/874465z8jkxvvuhv.jpg" border="0" height="241" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Girl that brings you down, down, down&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Don't give yourself away&lt;br /&gt;Don't live your life that way&lt;br /&gt;Of course he's gonna say, anything you want&lt;br /&gt;Then leave quicker than he came&lt;br /&gt;Now you've got yourself to blame&lt;br /&gt;Don't put yourself back in the fire again&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;It's the same damn things you're so quick to believe&lt;br /&gt;You do it over and over again&lt;br /&gt;And it's the same mistakes that I'm watching you weave&lt;br /&gt;You do it over and over again&lt;br /&gt;So before they bring you down&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;You gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything&lt;br /&gt;You gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Girl that brings you down, down, down&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Please don't be so naïve, don't wait till your heart bleeds&lt;br /&gt;Love wasn't built for speed, listen to me girl&lt;br /&gt;He keeps fuckin' with your head, tryna get you into bed&lt;br /&gt;And in the morning you'll just hate yourself&lt;br /&gt;It's the same damn things you're so quick to believe&lt;br /&gt;You do it over and over again&lt;br /&gt;And it's the same mistakes that I'm watching you make&lt;br /&gt;You do it over and over again and over again&lt;br /&gt;So before they bring you down&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;You gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything&lt;br /&gt;You gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Girl that brings you down, down, down&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;And you give until there's nothing to give&lt;br /&gt;Until there's nothing to give until there's nothing to give...&lt;br /&gt;Before they break you down&lt;/p&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;You gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;  You gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;  Before they bring you down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;  Cos Girl they'll bring you down, down, down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-5131415967613648747?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/5131415967613648747/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=5131415967613648747&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5131415967613648747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5131415967613648747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/02/fall-for-anything.html' title='Fall for Anything'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-1058305547811711277</id><published>2010-02-08T20:36:00.004Z</published><updated>2010-02-08T20:43:55.383Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>So Damn Clever.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Acording to my sister I'm aparently a shity girlfriend and I like to fuck with people's minds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ironic how the one person she seems to think that I played with, was the same person who fucking played with my feeling for almost 4 years now, the same person that made me a wreck, the same person that made me give so much of myself that nothing I ever do is enough anymore. The same person that made me fall in and out of love repeatedly, that made me spend sleepless nights crying, that made me doubt ALL of my relationships so far, that made me grow up imensily because I NEEDED to. The same person who was ALWAYS playing games with MY mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm messing up with James's mind because I sent him a fucking email, and being unfaithful to Ricardo because of that aswell. Lovely. IT WAS JUST A FUCKING EMAIL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And probably now I'm doing even worst since obviously at least James is going to read this, and blame himself over everything, like he always does, but even more because I'm blaming him myself. Yaba-daba-doo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, I am such a terrible person.&lt;br /&gt;I guess I learned that through time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-1058305547811711277?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/1058305547811711277/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=1058305547811711277&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1058305547811711277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1058305547811711277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/02/so-damn-clever.html' title='So Damn Clever.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-8564463645893516493</id><published>2010-01-01T19:38:00.004Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:18:04.503Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ednos'/><title type='text'>4st 7lbs</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="265"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gXrzttSPlc0&amp;amp;hl=pt_PT&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gXrzttSPlc0&amp;amp;hl=pt_PT&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't deal with this right now. I can't deal with my jeans not fitting and being fat right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter how often you tell me I'm beautiful and healthy, I don't feel healthy. I feel obese. I'm (not so slowly) going back to how I was before, weight wise, even if I'm supposedly a lot healthier now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't be healthier. If I was healthier, that would reflect on my body. I want my body from last year back. I want to be thinner than I was last year. I want to be tiny. I want to be lifted like a feather. I want to put on any clothes and look effortless beautiful. I want to be pale and cold and fragile looking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep, I'm going back there. And I won't let myself be stopped. I can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy 2010.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-8564463645893516493?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/8564463645893516493/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=8564463645893516493&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8564463645893516493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8564463645893516493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2010/01/4st-7lbs.html' title='4st 7lbs'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-4061894425824825502</id><published>2009-12-21T12:06:00.006Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:17:49.859Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='si'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ednos'/><title type='text'>Iris</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.schoolswork.co.uk/images/uploads/957439_b59d5c913f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 367px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.schoolswork.co.uk/images/uploads/957439_b59d5c913f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;And I don't want the world to see me&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I don't think they'd understand&lt;br /&gt;When everything's made to be broken&lt;br /&gt;I just want you to know who I am&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming&lt;br /&gt;Or the moment of truth in your lies&lt;br /&gt;When everything feels like the movies&lt;br /&gt;Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;http://messageboards.gurl.com/n/pfx/forum.aspx?tsn=1&amp;amp;nav=messages&amp;amp;webtag=gl-eatdis&amp;amp;tid=22315&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-4061894425824825502?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/4061894425824825502/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=4061894425824825502&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/4061894425824825502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/4061894425824825502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/12/iris.html' title='Iris'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-5673110430330499505</id><published>2009-12-12T16:52:00.006Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:17:03.470Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='si'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ednos'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>I need you</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/flSlH6Ybd4M&amp;amp;hl=pt_PT&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/flSlH6Ybd4M&amp;amp;hl=pt_PT&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes what I need is way more than words. Not all the words in the world could mean as much as laying on your arms, some days. 'Cause I don't have anything to say. I can't excuse myself for what I do. I don't know why I do it, and you being here would probably don't change a thing. I binge 'cause I feel empty, I restrict later because I feel too full, I cut because I'm a failure and I need some kind of punishment. I don't want anybody's pity, I just want someone to yell at me and beg me to stop. I want someone to force me to stop. To literally yell at me telling me I AM worth it, that I am NOT a failure.&lt;br /&gt;I just need something. I need security. I need to know you're mine and I need to know you're keeping me despite how messed up I already am and how messed up I will become. I need to be sure that your eyes shine when you say my name.&lt;br /&gt;I could find a milion reasons to love you, but none would be more important than having someone that loves me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;{found on my Math's notebook, it is old, from a few weeks ago. but... still makes sense.}&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-5673110430330499505?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/5673110430330499505/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=5673110430330499505&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5673110430330499505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5673110430330499505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-need-you.html' title='I need you'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-1013596107317574095</id><published>2009-12-07T21:09:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:16:44.461Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uwc'/><title type='text'>Raise Your Voice.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I can't imagine what you're going through. But I do know from experience that backing down can become a way of life. Don't leave. Screw the pressure. Screw the scholarship. Do your own thing, in your own times and get what your aim is. That's what matters."&lt;/span&gt; - Simon Fletcher on Raise Your Voice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I'm getting quotes from Disney's Sunday afternoon movies, starred by Hillary Duff. Simply because it got to me more than it should have. It made me rethink what I had decided, again. I've decided to stay, so far. And I should be even more certain of that each day. But damn, I'm not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-1013596107317574095?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/1013596107317574095/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=1013596107317574095&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1013596107317574095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1013596107317574095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/12/raise-your-voice.html' title='Raise Your Voice.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-5729453956630346347</id><published>2009-11-29T13:00:00.004Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:16:25.826Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paranoia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='si'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ednos'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='perfeccionismo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='obcessao'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Who I am hates who I've been.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.glitter-graphics.com/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://dl.glitter-graphics.net/pub/188/188451bvz2jlpap4.jpg" width="300" border="0" height="225" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p face="arial" style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;"I talk to absolutely no one.&lt;br /&gt;Couldn't keep to myself enough.&lt;br /&gt;And the things bottled inside have finally begun&lt;br /&gt;to create so much pressure that I’ll soon blow up.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; text-align: center;"&gt;I heard the reverberating footsteps&lt;br /&gt;sinking up to the beating of my heart,&lt;br /&gt;and I was positive that unless I got myself together,&lt;br /&gt;I would watch me fall apart."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;"&gt;I feel like now, almost more than ever, I need a break. I know it's been worse. I know I should be feeling better, but that, on itself, can make me feel worst. Because everyone expects me to feel better. Everyone expects me to be all bubbly now I have a boyfriend. And I'm not even sure if I want this yet. He's the most amazing guy I've met, he treats me like I deserve to be treated, but I just don't know if I want that. Sometimes it's just too good and I can't stand it. I don't like it when things are just so certain. I can't stand to know exactly who it will happen. I know I can make this last for virtually as long as I want to. And that scares the hell out of me. Because that means that I can make mistakes. And I'm not used to that. I'm used to being shouted out and yelled at with every tiny mistake that I make. I'm used to being told that I need to think more, to be smarter, to work harder. With everything. And in a way, I like the challenge. It breaks me apart, makes me a wreck, but I like it. In a way, I like to feel miserable. I feel like I deserve it, since I've had such an easy life so far. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;"&gt;I feel like I can't even fail the right way. I can't have a full blown-out ED, I obcess about food as much as an anorexic, but I fat, huge, and I just keep gaining weight, because I just can't do it right and be consistent with either not eating or eating normally. I can't be a real cutter because I barely scratch my skin when I do cut, which I do with damn scissors, I can't even get myself to use a blade. I can't fail completely at music lessons, because I still get to pass. Barely, but I do. And I definitely can't fail as a girlfriend because no matter what I say, I can't hurt him. I can't get myself to do it. Not this time. He's just too special. And when I ridiculously try to attempt to it, he just forgives me. And I can't deal with that. I either have to be the best or the worst, I can't deal with averegeness.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;"&gt;Sometimes I still feel like I should die. I don't think anyone notices me that much. Despite being kinda "popular", I feel like no one knows me. Everyone imagines me as something that I am not, and sometimes I just can't fake it anymore. Because I fake it everyday. Everytime someone asks if everything is ok. Because people ask about how do I cope with everything, and I say I just manage to do it. But truth is, I don't. I can't cope with this. I break down so often, but I just can't get a hold on myself. Not anymore. Because holding on and manage to do it is what is expected from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;"&gt;And everyone is too blind to see that I'm not ok. And even if they notice it, they just ignore it, because the fact that I'm not ok would mean that I'm not perfect, that I'm broken, and that I couldn't be as promissing anymore, that I couldn't be so successful anymore, because no one would want me if I was broken. But I am. There IS something wrong. And I know it. And I just want someone to see it aswell. Not "see" it and ask me if I'm doing better, but realize that it won't get better that easily. That I'm not just faking this, and that I can't just stop, no matter how kind are your words, no matter how much information I have. It's something from inside and I just can't get myself together that easily. I need help. I'm aware of that. When will other people see it?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-5729453956630346347?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/5729453956630346347/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=5729453956630346347&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5729453956630346347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5729453956630346347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/11/who-i-am-hates-who-ive-been.html' title='Who I am hates who I&apos;ve been.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3023844328887185114</id><published>2009-11-04T20:36:00.006Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:15:31.589Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Green Eyes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvHnN4l1qJI/AAAAAAAAACo/2k7w0aLHk7M/s1600-h/Img0005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvHnN4l1qJI/AAAAAAAAACo/2k7w0aLHk7M/s320/Img0005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400351653909342354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="20" height="20"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gmyq9tIiu8g&amp;amp;hl=pt-br&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;amp;color2=0x999999"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gmyq9tIiu8g&amp;amp;hl=pt-br&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;amp;color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" autoplay="true" width="20" height="20"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever I start to push you away, that's when I need you the most.&lt;br /&gt;So please, don't you ever fucking leave me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3023844328887185114?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3023844328887185114/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3023844328887185114&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3023844328887185114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3023844328887185114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/11/green-eyes.html' title='Green Eyes'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvHnN4l1qJI/AAAAAAAAACo/2k7w0aLHk7M/s72-c/Img0005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-5764380174824462452</id><published>2009-10-28T22:34:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:15:14.290Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uwc'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='perfeccionismo'/><title type='text'>Go.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="265"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GO9kxA3KmC8&amp;amp;hl=pt-br&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;amp;color2=0x999999"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GO9kxA3KmC8&amp;amp;hl=pt-br&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;amp;color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Get up and go&lt;br /&gt;Take a chance and be strong&lt;br /&gt;Or you could spend your whole life holding on&lt;br /&gt;Don't look back; just go&lt;br /&gt;Take a breath, move on&lt;br /&gt;Or you could spend your whole life holding on&lt;br /&gt;You could spend your whole life holding on"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De repente reparei que está a ficar cada vez mais próximo. As &lt;a href="http://www.uwc.org/"&gt;candidaturas&lt;/a&gt; são em Janeiro, mas se eu puder começo a preparar isso antes. Por um lado, acho que só agora as razões que tenho para ir são aquelas que a organização defende. Porque antes eu simplesmente queria ir embora. Agora não. Eu quero voltar. Eu aprendi a gostar de Portugal. Com todos os seus defeitos. A querer torná-lo melhor, mantendo tudo o que adoro no país. Porque quero ir? Porque sei que ia aprender imenso. Porque gosto e preciso dessa liberdade. Porque conhecer pessoas de outras culturas quase me causa orgasmos. Porque viajar é algo que faz parte de mim, e uma das coisas que tenho pena de não fazer tanto como queria.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas por outro lado quero ficar. Quero stressar durante o 12º ano por causa dos exames com os meus amigos de sempre. Quero organizar o baile de finalistas, escolher um vestido com a Ju, passarmos o dia juntas no cabeleireiro. Quero escolher o destino da viagem de finalistas e viajar com os meus colegas, para a borga. Quero chorar no fim do 12º com a Ana Sofia. Quero candidatar-me à universidade e morar sozinha com alguém que já conheça. Quero acabar pelo menos o 5º grau do Conservatório. Não me quero despedir do Ricardo sem nem sequer ter tido hipótese passar quase tempo nenhum com ele, provavelmente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A minha cabeça está como um cruzamento sem sinalização, em que eu me baralho sempre sem saber quem passa primeiro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu até que espero que decidam por mim e eu não consiga. Porque eu quero, sempre quis, TANTO isto, e agora estou cheiissima de medo. =S&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-5764380174824462452?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/5764380174824462452/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=5764380174824462452&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5764380174824462452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5764380174824462452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/10/go.html' title='Go.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7040075063963412318</id><published>2009-10-25T09:06:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:14:37.954Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paranoia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='perfeccionismo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='obcessao'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>Addict.</title><content type='html'>Odeio a minha personalidade obcessiva. Duvido que alguém quisesse sequer tentar falar comigo se soubesse as proporções que ela atinge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ultimamente eu simplesmente não POSSO ir a um centro comercial. Quinta-feira fui à baixa com a minha mãe enquanto esperava pela hora da consulta, pois é claro que tive de encontrar alguma coisa para comprar. Ontem fomos tentar a sorte com os bilhetes de U2 (sem sorte, btw) e é CLARO que já estava pronta para comprar algo outra vez. Damn, odeio ver-me como consumista e vaidosa. Mas sou. E agora cada vez que compro alguma coisa sinto-me culpada por ele. Porque não é justo eu gastar tanto dinheiro como se nada fosse e ele ter de estar a poupar. =S  Mas nem isso me consegue travar... Eu tenho TANTA roupa. E verdade seja dita, uso-a toda. Mas mesmo assim... Nem sequer tenho TEMPO para a usar toda. A não ser que troque de roupa todos os dias, e a minha mãe matava-me se eu fizesse isso, com a pilha de roupa que ela tinha de passar a ferro depois.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adiante. Eu já me conheço e sei como eu fico quando me apaixono. E sim, eu estou assim. E eu tenho medo de deixar isso transparecer. Porque eu não quero que ele se assuste. Porque eu assusto-me comigo própria, e assusto-me com ele quando ele se começa a comportar dessa forma. Eu sei que é ridiculo eu pedir espaço quando ele mora a 100 km. Quer dizer, como é que eu podia ter mais espaço que isto? Mas para mim é sufocante o suficiente ter de justificar cada vez que não mando uma mensagem ou não quero telefonar. É a única coisa que não gosto de namorar. Apesar de eu fazer o mesmo, e saber que é só preocupação. Mas não gosto dessa insegurança. Eu sou honesta, se eu quisesse acabar tudo, se eu achasse que não valia a pena, eu dizia. Não o evitava. Se eu estivesse a curtir com outro rapaz, não o ia dizer, obviamente. Mas também não ia servir de nada mandar mil mensagens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por falar em curtir com outro rapaz, o David está a pensar entrar para a Filarmónica. Por um lado, damn, é CLARO que adoro ter razoes para passar mais tempo com o meu melhor amigo. Mas por outro lado, passar aquelas noitadas que nós fazemos volta e meia quando temos saídas, com o meu ex-namorado... é perigoso. extremamente perigoso. Principalmente quando o dito ex-namorado é podre de bom e confessou que me acha sexy. Great. Mas bem, eu sei que é com o Ricardo que eu quero estar. Só posso esperar que eu pense um pouco antes de me deixar levar. Porque eu ia arrepender-me imensamente se acontecesse alguma coisa entre mim e o David. Por todas as razões e mais algumas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu escrevo aqui como se ninguém fosse ler. O que provavelmente é verdade. LOL. Mas de qualquer forma, se alguém conhecido ler isto, fantástico, sabem finalmente como eu sou de verdade. Eu sei, não é tão agradável como a Rita que conhecem, certo? =]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Live with it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7040075063963412318?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7040075063963412318/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7040075063963412318&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7040075063963412318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7040075063963412318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/10/addict.html' title='Addict.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3389289006732480605</id><published>2009-10-13T18:31:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:13:56.348Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ricardo'/><title type='text'>28 de Setembro de 2009.</title><content type='html'>Não, não tenho andado com vontade de escrever.&lt;br /&gt;Nem sequer de ler, quanto mais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não estive bem, apetecia-me escrever sobre isso, mas não consigo achar nenhum local seguro o suficiente para o fazer. Nem a mim própria consigo confessar o que realmente me preocupa. Porque é algo que tem tão pouco a ver comigo que é simplesmente absurdo para qualquer pessoa que eu fale de peso, calorias ou exercicio. E mais não digo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acho que estou a apanhar o hábito de usar datas como títulos. As datas importantes. 28 de Setembro será um aniversário, se eu conseguir que dure tanto. A última aventura séria só chegou a 9 meses, mas eu era mais nova e ele também. Não poderia ter sido de outra forma. Eu quero que dure. Mas é dificil. Desde sempre que soube que ia passar por isto mais cedo ou mais tarde. Aliás, de certa maneira assim que soube que não haveria mais nada com o David, tive a certeza que a próxima vez que me apaixonasse, não seria por alguém de Mortágua. É conhecido o meu desprezo por esta cidade, por muito que agora já quase me sinta em casa aqui, finalmente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O que quer que tenha acontecido com o Jorge no início do Verão, foi um muito atrasado "rebound", que eu vinha a desejar havia mais de um ano. Podia ter resultado, mas o mais certo era acontecer o que aconteceu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Ricardo tem tudo para ser o tal. Se não fosse assim, não me teria metido nisto. Ele arrepia-me. Ele conhece-me. Ele faz-me sentir bem. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;E&lt;/span&gt; não é o meu melhor amigo de infância. Como sempre tenho a impressão que se alguem recuar vou ser eu, mas já tinha essa impressao com o David e nao foi o caso. Não sei. Acho que demoro a entregar-me completamente, porque tenho medo precisamente disso. Recuo e fecho-me em copas porque sei que quando me entrego, não vejo mais nada. Basta perguntar a quem já me viu apaixonada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu costumava achar adoravel relações à distãncia. E sim, eu sou ingénua. Não é adorável. É estupidamente doloroso. Passaram DUAS SEMANAS. Só. E eu quero-o. Quero-o com todas as minhas forças.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu mereço isto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3389289006732480605?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3389289006732480605/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3389289006732480605&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3389289006732480605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3389289006732480605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/10/28-de-setembro-de-2009.html' title='28 de Setembro de 2009.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-5801544950783009337</id><published>2009-08-01T23:34:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:13:27.012Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>I should've known better</title><content type='html'>I don't even understand how could I ever think it would be any different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or if I did think that at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe this was exactly what I wanted. Because let's face it, I needed some drama in my life. And this is the best way to get some of it, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-5801544950783009337?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/5801544950783009337/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=5801544950783009337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5801544950783009337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/5801544950783009337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-shouldve-known-better.html' title='I should&apos;ve known better'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-312767962994693154</id><published>2009-06-23T23:14:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:13:10.313Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tiago'/><title type='text'>So long ago.</title><content type='html'>Eu quero sentir a presença dele. Mesmo a discutir. Mesmo que no fim eu me sinta miseravel outra vez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei que consigo viver sem ele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas eu não sei se quero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tenho saudades, admito. Mesmo que ele me fizesse sentir mal comigo mesma. Mesmo que eu nunca faça ideia de como lidar com ele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Continua a ser parte de mim. Uma grande parte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei que não devia. Eu sei que me vou sentir pior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não sei se o faça ou não.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/vent.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-312767962994693154?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/312767962994693154/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=312767962994693154&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/312767962994693154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/312767962994693154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/06/so-long-ago.html' title='So long ago.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-1360854956188171090</id><published>2009-04-24T18:42:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:12:53.832Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><title type='text'>Escolíadas</title><content type='html'>E nós quase parecemos nós outra vez. Antes de metermos na cabeça que íamos namorar. Antes de se tornar impossível ficar ao pé dele sem pensar em beijá-lo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E isso é o maior conforto, o maior prémio que eu podia pedir. O meu melhor amigo de volta.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-1360854956188171090?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/1360854956188171090/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=1360854956188171090&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1360854956188171090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/1360854956188171090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/04/escoliadas.html' title='Escolíadas'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-8891729410872653654</id><published>2009-02-27T22:33:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:12:33.184Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paranoia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='perfeccionismo'/><title type='text'>Last post on October 27</title><content type='html'>Não escrevi mais. Cada vez que escrevia as critícas eram cada vez mais negativas.&lt;br /&gt;Sim, tenho medo de critícas.&lt;br /&gt;Tenho pavor a falhar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tenho a mania de tentar ser perfeita.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acho que temos todos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É mais do que obvio dizer que isso é impossivel. Que vai sempre haver alguma coisa em que falhamos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fui habituada a não deixar passar essas falhas. A tentar sempre fazer melhor. A ideia não é fazer algo perfeito, mas sempre, sempre melhor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No fim de contas tenho um certo orgulho na pessoa que sou. Posso ser irritante, instável, indecisa, picuinhas e ter tanto medo de expor as minhas ideias em certas ocasioes, que é facil duvidar que eu sequer as tenha (e às vezes nao tenho mesmo...), mas sei que se isso acontece é porque tento agradar a todos, e mais uma vez OBVIAMENTE que isso não acontece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sei que às vezes exagero no controlo que tento ter sobre tudo o que faço. Um movimento em falso e encontram-me a desabar, em stress completo. Odeio essa minha faceta, porque sempre foi algo que odiei ver nas outras pessoas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não faço ideia onde quero chegar com isto. Só não estava a gostar de ver o blog com aquele post no início desde Outubro. Não mudou muito desde Outubro, mas mudou o suficiente para eu querer que as coisas estejam mais direccionadas para a frente, não para trás.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Começo agora a dar valor a tudo o que os meus pais se esforçaram por me ensinar, ao ambiente em que cresci, em vez de só lhes apontar defeitos. Porque eles esforçaram-se mesmo. E não posso dizer que não tenha resultado. Se calhar resultou foi precisamente no que eles queriam, e não no que eu queria ser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por outro lado, chegam-me ideias tão contraditórias sobre mim de todo o lado que é normal que eu não faça ideia de que raio de personalidade eu tenho, se é que tenho personalidade de todo. Só neste ano de 2009, já me disseram que eu sou egoísta, perfeccionista, refilona, teimosa, sossegada, calada, faladora, preguiçosa, desorganizada, inteligente, vivaz, e provavelmente outras coisas de que não me lembro. Se eu sou isso tudo ao mesmo tempo, então tenho realmente uma personalidade muito instável. Confirma-se.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por isso é que não posso usar aquelas frases feitas do genéro "eu sou sempre eu, nunca mudo". Damn. Ser sempre eu, lá isso devo ser... Mas ser eu implica mudar a cada fracção de segundo, saltitar entre extremos, variar a maneira como falo consoante estou a falar com o Tiago ou a Joana, por saber que a reacção a algo que eu diga vai ser completamente diferente de um para o outro, e por não ter paciência para lidar com essas reacções, quando já sei que vão ser negativas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para quê dizer algo a alguem de quem gosto que eu sei que não vai ser agradável de ouvir? Para quê fazer algo que eu sei que vou fazer mal?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu simplesmente não me consigo forçar a fazê-lo. Depois oiço raspanetes, que variam desde "mas diz alguma coisa!" a "mas porque é que não te esforças?" e o fantástico "se nem tentas ir atrás da bola, tenho de te dar negativa!" do stor de EF. Raio da bola. Eu estou a vê-la a dirigir-se a um local a 5 metros de mim, nem em velocidade relampago chego lá antes dela, para que é que me vou mover? x-x  Eu sei que não é a atitude a ter. Mas argh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu realmente sou um bicho muito irritante.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-8891729410872653654?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/8891729410872653654/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=8891729410872653654&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8891729410872653654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/8891729410872653654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2009/02/last-post-on-october-27.html' title='Last post on October 27'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-4116665154419411205</id><published>2008-10-27T22:33:00.004Z</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:12:07.055Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paranoia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><title type='text'>The Scientist.</title><content type='html'>Este Sábado, no caminho entre Coimbra e Mortágua, estava a ouvir música no telemóvel. The Killers, para ser mais precisa. Não sei ao certo que música. Sei que o visor do telemóvel ficou branco por uns instantes, a música parou de tocar, e quando consegui ver o fundo novamente e carreguei no play, começou a tocar... The Scientist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Justamente The Scientist. E não faço ideia como mudou de música. C (de Coldplay) e T estão bastante separados, ainda por cima.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mudei de novo para The Killers. Nem forças superiores alienigenas me farão ouvir essa música agora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É tão tarde. Demasiado tarde para se pensar sequer em alguma coisa depois de tudo o que já se passou. Eu e ele já nem somos eu e ele. Somos outras pessoas. Por mais saudades que tenha, tenho de manter isso em mente. Não iria resultar. Não valeria sequer a pena tentar, mesmo que pudesse tentar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E The Scientist não se pode encaixar nisto agora.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-4116665154419411205?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/4116665154419411205/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=4116665154419411205&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/4116665154419411205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/4116665154419411205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2008/10/scientist.html' title='The Scientist.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-3410943443474809490</id><published>2008-08-31T16:24:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T16:36:54.767+01:00</updated><title type='text'>On and off, o que me atrai.</title><content type='html'>[Sim, sim, deja vu. Mas sempre escrevi para mim e só para mim. Logo, que importa o quão ridiculo é?]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversas, de qualquer tipo, profundas ou banais, desde que bem guiadas, bem faladas. Conversas em que há sempre algo para dizer. E em que ninguem se sente ridiculo por dizer algo. Isso atrai-me. Em minutos, podem crer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olhos a brilhar, de qualquer cor ou feitio, atraem-me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calma e respeito atraem-me acima de tudo. Mas um pouco de espirito selvagem ajuda. Um senso de timing, por assim dizer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homens atraem-me. Nao, nao estou a afirmar a minha heterossexualidade. Gosto de um ar calmo, confiante, adulto. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Romantismo atrai-me bastante. Mas é facil passar a ténue linha entre romantismo e pirosice. Não gosto de ursos de pelucia da loja dos trezentos a dizer "Adoro-te", gosto de rosas. Essa é a diferença. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sobretudo, atrai-me o inesperado. O momento. O estar, ser, e o querer estar e ser juntos. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E isso é o que mais importa. Muito mais do que presentes caros, roupas chiques e uma cara bonita. Nada disso consegue ter charme sozinho.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-3410943443474809490?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/3410943443474809490/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=3410943443474809490&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3410943443474809490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/3410943443474809490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2008/08/on-and-off-o-que-me-atrai.html' title='On and off, o que me atrai.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-2471457193941593285</id><published>2008-08-21T00:13:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:11:36.188Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paranoia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ferias'/><title type='text'>Algo por você.</title><content type='html'>A culpa é toda minha. Sim, é. Tenho a sensação de que todos os problemas de todas as pessoas deviam ser resolvidos por mim. Eu devia ser capaz de saber o que dizer, saber o que não dizer. E a verdade é que nunca tenho problemas MEUS. Ando sempre a tombos com os das outras pessoas. E só isso é que me tira o sono. Dou voltas e voltas, pergunto opinião a toda a gente, e não consigo arranjar respostas. Quando acontece eu mesma ter um problema, é bola prá frente. Posso-me preocupar com isso, sim. Mas é raro fazer um drama, ou perguntar a alguém o que devo fazer. Claro, normalmente acabo por dizer o que se passa, porque é muito dificil para mim esconder que estou preocupada com alguma coisa. Mas não é a mesma ansiedade...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acho que ninguém tem noção realmente o quanto eu choro. Não é que não consiga evitar. Ou que se passa algo. Mas vem uma dor miudinha algures nem eu sei bem onde que só consigo que vá embora assim. E se calhar, é mesmo suposto lá estar. Normalmente é arrependimento, saudade, medo, ou tudo misturado. Outro ritual de quando tenho essa impressão estranha, é pegar no telemóvel e mandar uma mensagem ao David. Vem de há muito tempo, é intuitivo. Agora só me faz pior, claro. Mas às vezes ainda acaba por me acalmar. Se há algo que ele sabe é pôr alguém bem-disposto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É rídiculo eu mencioná-lo tantas vezes quando escrevo, talvez, mas arrisco-me a dizer que não há ninguém que eu conheça tão bem, ou com quem tenha vivido tanta coisa. Isso torna fácil lembrar-me dele pelas mais variadas razões.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Às vezes só preciso de falar com alguém sobre algo completamente diferente. Normalmente falo muito. Até demais. Ao contrário da maior parte das pessoas com quem falei sobre isso, falo ainda mais frente a frente do que por computador. Acho que por nunca ter sido propriamente timida, e porque frente a frente é mais fácil lembrar-me de algo para dizer, por alguma razão. Mas no fundo, sou extremamente insegura. Tenho medo que me achem vulgar, tenho medo que achem que me esforço demais para não ser vulgar, tenho medo que achem que não sei nada de jeito, tenho medo que achem que não me devia preocupar em saber tanto, e tenho mais que tudo medo de magoar alguém, de não estar à altura, de ser demasiado nova para dar palpites sobre alguma coisa. Com pessoas mais velhas torna-se infinitamente pior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dá-me vontade de falar, falar, falar. Estou farta de férias, por alguma razão não vejo ninguém, e quando vejo, as conversas não variam muito. Não que em aulas mude alguma coisa. Sei lá.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje mais cedo tomei um banho de água gelada. Nunca tomo banho de água gelada. Nem com muito calor, coisa que hoje não esteve. Mas a água fria a correr pelo meu corpo foi talvez uma maneira de me punir nem eu sei bem de quê.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não penso em me matar, nem perto. Há mais de um ano que não penso nisso. Mas a pergunta que fiz ao David foi "Se eu morresse agora, o que é que perdia?" porque é só nisso que eu consigo pensar. O que é que eu tenho mesmo agora. Acho que eu faço sempre questão q a minha vida dependa de alguém, que todas as minhas emoções estejam nas mãos de outra pessoa. Tenho de mudar isso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-2471457193941593285?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/2471457193941593285/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=2471457193941593285&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/2471457193941593285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/2471457193941593285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2008/08/algo-por-voc.html' title='Algo por você.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-471427946232716642.post-7795837273919014133</id><published>2008-08-14T17:32:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T20:10:40.871Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mortagua'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sarcasmo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='xana'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ju'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='david'/><title type='text'>Mortaguísses.</title><content type='html'>O namorado de uma das minhas melhores amigas foi meu colega de turma. E ela é irmã da ex-melhor amiga da minha irmã.&lt;br /&gt;O melhor amigo do David é filho de um amigo de infância do meu pai. E a minha mãe costumava dançar com o pai dele nos bailes.&lt;br /&gt;O David era amigo de outra das minhas melhores amigas quando eles tinham 4 anos.&lt;br /&gt;O meu primo namora com uma amiga minha e colega da Filarmónica. E o primo dela era um grande amigo do David, noutros tempos.&lt;br /&gt;Outra amiga minha namora com um rapaz que teve aulas de catequese (?) comigo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De minha casa à vila são 10 minutos a pé, 5 de bicicleta e 3 de carro. Junte-se 1 ou 2 minutos para chegar a casa da Xana, porque aquela subida demora um bocadinho; e só uns segundos até casa da Sofia. Até casa do David demoro mais ou menos o mesmo, embora na direcçao contrária. E se continuar durante o dobro do tempo, chego a casa da minha avó.&lt;br /&gt;A casa da Joana já fica mais longe, não posso ir a pé e até poderia ir de bicicleta se tivesse paciência e nao achasse que me perdia. Mas em 15/20 minutos de carro chego lá.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em linguagem corrente as zonhas dividem-se em: rua principal (extremamente movimentada, tirando todos os dias das 9 às 12, das 14 às 19 e das 21 às 24 e durante todo o fim de semana.); Baixa, que consiste na fantástica rua junto à mercearia, que tem, imaginem! uma fonte. e bancos.; subúrbios, assim denominada essa zona nao pelo luxo das casas, mas por serem todas I-G-U-A-I-S.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acho que é a primeira vez que não estou irritada enquanto escrevo sobre Mortágua. =P  Mais vale ver pelo lado positivo e servir-me da terra para me rir um bocado.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/471427946232716642-7795837273919014133?l=rita-portugal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/feeds/7795837273919014133/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=471427946232716642&amp;postID=7795837273919014133&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7795837273919014133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/471427946232716642/posts/default/7795837273919014133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rita-portugal.blogspot.com/2008/08/mortagusses.html' title='Mortaguísses.'/><author><name>Rita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14291454247284254626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y1oTp8iWecY/SvNIiz_80iI/AAAAAAAAACw/1jURe8E-LT8/S220/Picture+23.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
