A spot of grocery shopping, a few diapers changed, dinner, a chat on the phone, a shower, a shave, and an arduous mission retrieving a small round dog toy from under the couch—that has been my day today, and all in all, little to write home about, certainly nothing demanding deep considerations, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange. That is, if it weren’t for three incontrovertible Facts: 1) The universe contains well over 500,000,000,000 galaxies, with each galaxy containing over 1,000,000,000,000 stars, of which our vast, blazing and life-bestowing sun . . . is one. 2) The Earth is 4,600,000,000 years old, in which time, from the Pre-Cambrian Era to the Present, a dizzying, terrifying number of inhabitants—amoebas and trilobites, dust mites and Neanderthals—have all struggled to live from one hour to the next. (Indeed, more living creatures are in my stomach (and yours) at this moment than the total number of human beings that have ever existed. 3) I will die. I will be dead in sixty years, though it’s entirely conceivable that I’ll be dead before the week is out.
And suddenly all the props holding up my warm and secure little existence are kicked away and used for kindling. The imagination is taxed to exhaustion and left numb and agape when it even begins to fathom the implications of these Facts. They beggar the most breathless hyperbole . . . I write plays to help me keep these Three Facts in the front of my head. IN other words, I write to try to keep myself engaged with the Bewildering and Infinite.
—Glen Berger, Afterword of Underneath the Lintel: An Impressive Presentation of Lovely Evidences