I am so tired! Of what, of life? Oh, no, not life itself but All the little things that go Toward keeping up this intricate Machinery called life — The body of this life! It looks to me incessantly for Inconveniences, as daily bath, A breakfast, food for morning, Noon and night and medicines Perchance, should I of these Indulgencies lose sight.
Anna M. Johnson's "I Am Tired" opens with a question and then quickly corrects itself. The speaker is exhausted, but not by life itself. What wears her down is the endless maintenance it demands: the daily bath, breakfast, meals at morning, noon and night, and perhaps medicines. She calls all this an "intricate machinery," and the body becomes something that constantly needs feeding, washing and tending.
The mood is weary but quietly wry. Nothing dramatic happens, and the speaker never complains about the big things. Her tiredness comes from repetition, from small tasks that never end. The phrase "Indulgencies" is interesting, since it treats basic needs as luxuries, which hints at some irony. The poem's broken lines, which stop and start mid-thought, also seem to echo that fatigue. Judging by the details, she may be describing the burdens of age or illness, though the poem never says so outright. What comes through is a tired, honest voice.