Living on my aunt's horse farm across the street from where they filmed twilight was one of the strangest experiences anyone could ever have.
I slept alone in the basement, always heading to bed at about 5 a.m. with a head full of beer and xanax.
It was musty, and I had to swat bugs away from the walls around the bedposts each night as I lay down.
Worse yet, everyone else got up just after dawn and opened the kennel for the 11 Russian Wolf Hounds that would run around through the 5-acre property and peer through the basement window at me as I slept inside.
The nights were cold, and the whole house was heated by a small fireplace that burned woodchips.
My only friend was a jet-black Feral cat nicknamed Darwin, who would creep into the basement at night and squawk at me to pet it.