This is not fiction. I’m reasonably sure it’s not fiction, but the lines between what we call real and unreal get blurrier each day. It started like every morning. I was preparing to chain myself to my desk and get some real writing done. I had purchased a new writing desk to inspire me and was dragging the box into my office when a message popped up on my laptop. “How are you today?” I didn’t recognize the name attached to the IM and sorry to say can’t recall it now. If your brain had to twist itself around the kind of experiences I was in for, you’d forget a…