Aren't all dreams strange?

I broke out of my usual pattern tonight. Maybe because of the severity of the cold.  It’s supposed to dip to 17 below overnight. Anyway, I came in from my walking regimen, at about 6, Made supper. Ate three hours ahead of schedule, Then showered. Went to bed before 8.  With the TV still on in the living room. And I had put the cats in their room, too.  Finally got up. At 11. And here I am. Writing. Just before midnight. I was having a dream. That I was having dinner. A social engagement. At the home of a longtime  editor friend, Ben, from the St. Paul paper. Along with two other writer associates there. And I noticed that Ben’s wife wasn’t with us. But dining instead in another room. With someone else. And I wondered why they weren’t with us. And apparently it was that she was dining with someone with dementia. And it would have been too disruptive to have them with us. And I began to object. At that point, I woke up. Have to think about it. I wonder if I would still have had the dream. If I had followed my usual pattern. And not  gone to bed so early. Maybe the dream will resume when I go back to bed. A strange dream. But then, aren’t all dreams strange? –Jim Broede