I have a paper to write. I need to submit it by Friday.
It has little significance in the affairs of the Western World - if its submission is delayed, the sun will still rise, the tides will continue to ebb and flow, birds will still migrate in Spring, and gbaji will still fail to understand the difference between logical argument and verbose reactionary rhetoric.
I do, however, need to complete the paper if I am to avert the scorn of my employer, continue to command the respect of my lords and masters, and maintain the standards of epicurean bonne-vie to which I have become accustomed. It will be read by a handful of people, although one of them is of significant import, and wields the power to grant or deny a bright and glorious future to minions such as I.
It doesn't need to be a long paper. A few pages that distil the essence of past and present policy, to shed light on what will be propitious in the coming months will suffice. I need no sophisticated formatting. There is no constraining template to confine the bounds of my loquaciousness. The paper needs no illustrations, complex diagrams or multi-dimensional graphics.
Even so, my prevaricative nature turns any activity into a more attractive prospect than doing what I'm supposed to do. Obligatory tasks, no matter how attractive or ugly, rewarding or asinine, will always take second place to a shiny thing. I suppose as my dotage envelopes me, as my hair recedes and turns grey, as my contemporaries become grandparents and die untimely deaths, I am still bound by the shackles of adolescent rebellion.
Now if you don't mind; please leave me alone! I have a paper to write!