Mortality

Hah! said Pliny the Elder. I always knew you were a woolly thinker.

That's rich coming from you, I said. Who is the person that thinks wearing a woman's breastband around his head will cure him of a headache?

I no longer hold that view, said Pliny huffily. Nowadays I prefer to rely on aspirin. And in any case it is not the same thing. You claim you believed something you knew to be false.

Up until I discovered what it was, I said. Now I no longer believe in the unilateral genderisation of dogs and cats. But if you had been a little more sympathetic I would have told you of another set of incompatible beliefs I've discovered that I hold. As it is, I don't really feel like telling you.

Then do not tell me, said Pliny, picking up a book and pretending to read.

You are just pretending to read, Pliny. You really want me to tell you, don't you.

No, said Pliny. Oh alright, yes. Tell me.

This is a very deep set of incompatible beliefs, Pliny. One morning, ten years ago, I was opening a wardrobe, to get out some clothes. It was a beautiful spring morning, and the sun was shining.
I was thinking about going on a holiday, at some undetermined time in the future. But just for a second I caught myself thinking, that at this undetermined time in the future, when I would be going on a holiday, and perhaps getting some clothes out of the wardrobe in order to pack, I would still be me, but I would be younger. And I realised that at some sub-conscious level I believed this to be true.

That you are getting younger? asked Pliny.

Not exactly, no. That I will be younger again at some time in the future.

Fascinating, said Pliny. And to some extent pathetic. But then, he added kindly, no doubt it is a form of hidden optimism, without which one might be subject to despair.

That's just what I think, Pliny. That's why I haven't tried to root it out.

But you do know you are mortal?

Of course I do. Do you?

I did. I was. But now, I'm not so sure.