Two places at once

Sitting on a chair, I was sure I needed a pen on a table five whole feet away. But this chair, so big, so soft; I had sunk so deep into the wonderful thing I found myself unable to get up.

"You need to go slower," one friend in the room said to another, "you go far too fast."

I got up, I walked to the table to grab the pen and fell to my chair again. I planned to write down something I heard earlier, but once I had the pen in hand, I no longer cared to write such a thing.

The pen disappeared, I looked over to see it still sitting on that table five feet from me. Still sunk deep into my chair I refused to get up and grab the pen for no reason having worked that course already.

"You need to go slower," I listened to my friend again, though it was still the first time he said it, "you go far too fast."

It's the ultimate sort of laziness, turning back time to undo any work I've done.

"But there isn't any time to go slow," the other friend replied, a quote I didn't want to forget, a quote I needed to write down. I looked at the pen sitting on the table just five feet away.