"Life, friends, is boring."

I have done my living.

The development of my physicality - that continual dream state that ends in birth - and the subsequent rapid splitting of cells and in vitro growth on the culture dish that is the world. It tapers; it slows.
And I come to the beginning of the end. I know my body is settling; all the cells and neurons I will ever have shuffle about my outline like quicksand finding temporary equilibrium. I know my mind and memory dull, and things aren't quite as vibrant as they used to be.

Dying is not some sudden end
later in life;
it begins at this time, what people consider youth.
The body blossoms
again and again
with a refresh of cells that are new, yet less effective
and more error prone than their predecessors.

Many live in reverse. The prenatal dark dreams bear striking resemblance to the delirious fantasies of the deathbed, a coincidence of similarity and chemistry. "Living" is then the awakening from the dream, the day-in-day-out ache that says 'you are alive!' beginning with the ache of your first breath - the drowned breaking the water's surface.
...
I should point out that death, without interference, is painful. It happens to be, in order of occurrence, the second most jarring transition; the other being birth. The aches produced by what many consider to be living turn out to be us tip-toeing around that transition. We experience dying in many small ways before it ends.