Novel editing and the origins of "adios"

I'm not sure why this is, but it's extremely hard to rationalize doing homework when I have some fantastic scenes in my head just waiting to come out on paper. I mean, grades are just made of letters (and sleepless nights, of course), while this book could potentially be made of awesome. Of course, I haven't yet neglected my studies, but it's tempting. Very tempting.
At first when I finished my draft I wanted to throw up when I thought about editing it, but now it's actually kind of nice. The dialogue is much less awful now, and the scenes are flowing together better.
On an unrelated note: I just google image searched myself to see what a prospective agent might find, and I seem to have miraculously avoided the Internet. Except for a picture of my be-Chacoed (Chacofied?) feet that is the album cover for my piano music. Which I find extremely entertaining.
Since this entire post seems rather random and out-of-place, I should probably mention that one of my friends (who is actually going to be my roommate next year. Yay!) was wondering where the word "Adios" came from. "A" means to, and "Dios" means God, so I shot a finger-gun at her and said, "Adios." To God. I'll leave you to ponder the philosophical implications of this why I either study Spanish phonetics or write a scene.

Adios.

Oda a mis gafas

I wrote a poem in Spanish and thought I'd post it on here (but no, it does not have a translation, so you'll just have to become bilingual to comprehend my genius).

Oda a mis gafas

Los suéteres se desgastan,

el ambiente eventualmente destruye los pantalones,

y los zapatos no duran para siempre,

pero cada día me pongo las gafas.

Amigos fieles, siempre me ayudan.

Sus montas rectangulares abrazan a sus lentes.

Sus ventanas claras me dan pasamiento al mundo de color.

He perdido el arte de ver.

Paso por las gotas de agua en las hojas de los árboles,

los arcos irises por encima de mi cabeza,

las sonrisas tímidas en las bocas de los desconocidos, 

y los nubes sonrojos.

Mis ojos escogen mirar a las calles, las fechas, y los informes.

No quieren recordar su ceguera,

pero siempre están allí mis gafas.

Amigos sabios, esperan silenciosamente

el momento de recordar.

Tristes sin lágrimas, no dicen nada

mientras camino rápidamente a la clase.

Sienten sin movimiento en mi nariz

cuando cruzo la calle hablando por teléfono.

No me piden nada.

Anticipan que los me ponga

y pare por ver brevemente,

que observe las gotas de agua y los nubes,

y que mire la lluvia con ojos fascinados.

Mis gafas, guías leales, me enseñan silenciosamente

a ver.