Dear S--,

You should have come me with on Sunday morning. You would have liked it. We had brunch at a German restaurant (Sausage and bacon in an omelette! The Germans are geniuses! Forget everything I and my ancestors have ever said about them.) and then went to the beach at Fort Funston (which invited the inevitable, "Putting the 'Fun' in Funston," joke, which we didn't seem to tire of all afternoon.)

Fort Funston, if you haven't been there, is the finest dog park I've ever seen. All of the dogs are beautiful and happy and none of them barked, not a one. (In New York City, the dogs are always barking, straining to be heard above the constant white noise. I talk louder there too, I have to admit.) The owners are negotiable. It's really a dog's world there. It was a pleasure to watch them frolic on the beach. I really want a dog.

We were late getting there so after our hike down, we had limited beach time; the tide encroached after a half hour or so. Jenny and I walked about a minute behind T.Jay, and their dog, Pilot, ran back and forth between us. He nipped at her heels a few times.

"He's herding us," Jenny explained.

Eventually rain clouds moved in with the tide, and then we headed back up the trail. Jenny and I walked slowly up the sand. Pilot ran back and forth. T.Jay grinned at us from the top. When possible, all boys have to finish first. You did it too, on our Saturday hike. Boys are such punks.

We headed back to their home in Berkeley. I love their home. They have a front yard and a back yard and lots of good art and hardwood floors. They also have half a million cable channels and a pretty kitty named Ingrid that perches like a princess on the top of their living room couch, rarely interacting with anyone, but never letting you forget she's there.

We drank margaritas and microbrews and ate pizza and caesar salad and watched one half of their half million cable channels. I had some time alone with T.Jay when Jenny went out for a bit, which was nice, just as it had been on Friday night.

T.Jay is like the boys I grew up with that I always liked the best. He likes good music and drinking beer and talking shit. I like to play and get rowdy with those types of boys. (I'll never lose that tomboy aspect of myself, nor do I want to.) But when I'm with both him and Jenny it's hard not to sink into the luxuriousness of her heart and get caught up in her curiosity for the whole wide world. Everyone loves Jenny. It's the truth. I'm glad I got to spend enough time with the both of them.

I didn't sleep much last night, even though the bed was comfortable enough and I had taken the allergy medicine that usually kicks my ass right into dreamland. The past day and a half with you raged through my head all night long, particularly the unanswered questions that plagued Sunday morning.

It doesn't bother me, though, like I think it does you, so I didn't mind giving up a little sleep for some deep thoughts. It comforts me to know that there is something worth thinking about besides work and money and the general exhausting milieu of New York City. I like the idea that there is more to my future than just what I carefully prepare for on my resume. The not-knowingness of our entire relationship equals freedom.

I hate watching movies or reading books and being able to figure the conclusion halfway through. It makes me want to walk out of the theatre. It makes me want to put down the book. It bores me. I don't think you want to be bored, either.

I talked a little bit about you to Jenny while she drove me to the airport this morning. I didn't want to discuss it too much because I don't want to come to any conclusions. I also like the feeling that I have a bit of a secret.

It's back to work tomorrow, plotting and planning and solving. I'll reserve a little corner of my brain to think about you, a little five minute red light when I need a break from my life. I'll try to come up with some answers for the next time we speak. I don't promise to have all of them, but I promise to tell the truth.

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