on guilt, disillusion and somesuch sentiments

i had to get up, have a bottle of blood wrested away from the gross spot on my arm, had to take a crap into a plastic cup and pee (midstream) into a bottle, and then had to deal with the rest of the business in a disgusting bathroom i couldn't even LOOK at. there was obviously no toilet paper, and the blue harpic bottle on the counter that said "leave specimen here" blurred in and out of focus as i contemplated the sadism of fasting and then giving blood.
then came the wonderful experience of dealing with HR morons on the phone about the case of the lost chest xray, and then it was my turn for an ECG. i had all my metal wrestled off me, ("gold is not a metal, you can leave it on" said the extremely well informed technician who had indubitably inflicted her wisdom on a million ECG's yet), and had to have my poor ribs molested by some chatty chick who knew all about my life by the end of it.
my parents missed their morning gym routine for me (guilt number 1), without even asking (they were in their gym cothes and everthing - SO cute). i came home after it was over to drop my mom off (i take her with me as a moral support/verbal punching bag to these occasions - guilt 2), to find my poor cook sweltering in the sun outside the gate, (my dad made him stand there and wait for us) to give me my orange juice box (guilt number 3). my mother insists i come in and eat a sandwich, so i - in a foul mood - do as she says. wait ten minutes (tick tock, an hour late for work - guilt 4), and then comes this beautiful three layer artistic concoction (my mother is a bit like Bree from desperate housewives) with protien, grain, carbs all healthily encased in it. its really nice of her - as usual - and i take a bite but SPIT it out because it has sandwich spread somewhere in it (i can TASTE IT). vomit.
so guilt 5, i have a tantrum, refuse to eat the damn sandwich and its disgusting, fattening, mayo filled secret ingrediant, and storm out. i forget that i'm supposed to leave the driver at home (the bloody fool is sitting in the back seat and i don't even notice he's there), so now my dad will have to find parking on his own when he goes for the meeting (guilt 6). the driver will have to sit in the sun somewhere in the parking lot (guilt 7) for the next four hours till i leave for my lunch plan.
i hate mornings. i hate medicals. i hate the bandaid on my arm, my genreal wooziness because i still haven't eaten after losing my pint of blood (seriously) and i also hate the deep ancient guilt my parents can evoke in me like a sore tooth.
i'm flying out tomorrow, won't be in the city for another week.
happy mothers day mom.