Case of the Hypochondriac

I came home from school early today because I lost my voice. I consulted the charts in our "family medical guide" that Jake bought at an estate sale and according to it, I either have a cold, strep throat, laryngitits, tuberculosis, or a tumor in my throat.
I'll play it safe and say that it is either of the last two.
In that case, I am prepared to die, I just have a few goodbyes and plans to set in motion.
Here is a list of my demands:
First off, ABSOLUTELY no primary songs at the funeral.
I require at least 8 varieties of funeral potatoes, and a sampler of assorted chocolate cakes to be served at the luncheon.
Every one who comes to the funeral has to bring something to eat, like one big, sad potluck.
No pink shall be worn, even on little girl babies. Yellow may be acceptable. Check with me on the outfit before you put em in it.
I would like to be buried with my favorite pillow, you know, the squishy one in the green pillowcase.
Finally, everyone has to be nice to Jake. I'm sure he will be really stressed out.

As for goodbyes, I would like to recognize my grumpy cat one last time. Cleo, I may have fancied Taylor's cat Hector at one time or another, but honestly, I've always been on your side. Thanks for the fluffity puffity times.
Also, my ipod. I don't know what I would have done without you all those times I wanted to keep listening to my audiobook but had to go some where and could just discreetly cart you along.
Finally, my nieghbor, I'm not sure which one, who has the car alarm that goes off every night. I won't miss you very much.

Well, I'm glad I got this one last blog in before I went. I really think the nyquil is starting to kick in.