I burst into tears...

The first email came in August. It was that time again. Time to ramp up the planning for the 3rd Annual Los Angeles Autoimmune Walk. You'd think after two rodeos, we'd be old hat at this by now since we've had pretty much the same core coordinating team from day one. But let me just tell you, putting on an event at a public park, for hundreds of people, coordinating dozens of volunteers, trying to get sponsorships and donations, feeding people, entertaining people, keeping people safe...it's a lot. A LOT. And this is a side gig for everyone involved.

And so we had meetings. Weekly conference calls. Emails and texts that shot back and forth daily. Spreadsheets and documents and forms and social media. And we all just did it. Which is amazing. Because people who donate their time and their energy are hard to come by and they are SPECIAL.

And then Saturday dawned. Sunny and perfectly warm. The grass was green, the leaves crunchy. The trucks arrived and we set up. The volunteers arrived. It all fell into place. It was all running just as it needed to. So much so that when I saw another core coordinator, we'd look at each other and wonder out loud, are we missing something? But we weren't.

The technical and practical had been taken care of. I was wondering around answering questions and doing whatever needed to be done. And then I burst into tears...

Registration was underway, we were getting ready to hear from our first speaker of the afternoon, Haley Ramm. Haley is one of the co-founders of the Walk, along with the rest of her family. Her mother, Barbara, suffers from several debilitating autoimmune diseases. I've heard Haley speak before and she's eloquent and emotional and always has a hopeful message. I headed toward the stage area. But as I did, I noticed a mother and daughter I'd seen earlier by the bead table.

The mother was ushering her young daughter, who was maybe six, toward the stage area as well. And as she did, she said, "We are going to go hear this young girl speak. Her mommy has the same disease I do."

And I burst into tears.

Because all the rest doesn't matter. All the frustration and paperwork and conference calls while dinner was waiting doesn't matter. All the permits and people who didn't show up and the wrong color this and the too much of that doesn't matter.

That little girl's mom is sick.

Haley's mom is sick.

I am sick.

And that's what brought us all to Culver City Park on Saturday. Some of us as the sun was just warming up the day. Some of us after lunch. All of us to raise money, to raise awareness, to be together. To smile and inspire and cheer and thank and love.

I wound my way through the crowds and found my backpack and a Kleenex. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes and headed back over to hear Haley speak. And as she did, I burst into tears again.

Everyone in that park that day was there because of Haley. Because of Haley's mom Barbara. Because of that little girl. Because of that little girl's mom. Because of me. Because of all of us.

People in wheelchairs. People with shaved heads. People with visible signs of their diseases. People without visible signs of their diseases. But also? SO MANY LOVED ONES. SO MANY FRIENDS. How awesome is that?

As of today, Monday, we've raised over $40,000 for research with the 2017 Walk. That is also so awesome. That brings more tears. But it also brings joy. Because on the chains we carried during the walk (and that will go back to AARDA headquarters in Detroit to make their way to Washington D.C.) was listed the names of everyone we walked for, everyone fighting autoimmune disease. My name was somewhere in that chain as well. And so was Aunt Gloria's name. Because even though one year ago on Saturday we lost Gloria to her autoimmune disease, we still fight. We fight for everyone who fought before us, everyone who will come after us. Because until there are cures, we are not finished. We cry. We love. We walk.

Today I worked

Recently a very good friend told me she didn't really fully understand that I worked at home until she saw my home office for herself and we talked about my job. I thought about that for a long moment after she said it.

I wonder how many other people realize that I actually do work at my house. No, I don't punch a clock. No, I don't have to check in with a supervisor. No, I don't have to get in my car and find my parking pass and ride the escalator and unlock my office door.

But I do work at home.

And I don't belabor that point to make anyone regret the time they've called me or texted me or asked me out to lunch or asked me to run an errand. I do all of that just as Angela does or my mom would do. I take personal calls during the day. I jump on calls about volunteering. I run to the post office. I do laundry and make muffins and put dinner in to cook.

But I also work. I sit at my desk before the sun is up in the window above my computer screen and I get to work. Sometimes that work is ready 28 articles I've been bookmarking throughout the week. Sometimes that work is checking in on a Twitter Q & A about independent film casting. Sometimes that work is trying to figure out how a woman would shoot a gun while jumping out of an airplane. Sometimes that work is writing a biography of myself for a writing fellowship. Sometimes that work is putting my earphones on and tuning out the world and ripping apart a script I've spent eight years working on.

That was today. Today I had a relatively quick (45 minutes) notes call with Tami. We talked about my latest thoughts on a draft and some of the changes I've made. Then she said, what if...

That what if sparked a forest fire. By three-thirty this afternoon I had moved scenes around, rewritten scenes and completely changed the ending of something, including un-killing a main character. Yep, I un-killed him. I let him live. I imagine some day the actor playing the part will be pretty happy about that. One more scene. One more chance to tell a story.

Today I did some work.

Yes, part of that work was listening to the same four new Taylor Swift songs scream through my new Beats over and over again. Yes, part of that work involved me dancing in the kitchen while my beef stew heated up in the microwave. Yes, part of that work involved me doodling on a piece of paper as I read the captions on an inspirational speech video given by Peter Dinklage. Yes, part of that work involved using way too many Post-It notes to scribble and write checklists and reminders of when to do this in the script and when not to do that.

That's all my work. And it's all done here, in my bedroom. In my office. At home.

It's my job.

And it's incredible that it's my job. And it's almost unfathomable that this is my job. That wheels are turning as I work and write and dance that make it possible for me to do this job, to continue to do this job.

And I can't wait to share it with everyone soon!