Hear me out: This perfect weather is insidious. In Seattle this week it's been sunny but not too hot, clear and not at all smoky. Picnic weather, softball weather, day after day. I look at the forecast, and I see little shiny suns all lined up in a row, and all I can think is...when will we finally get a break?

I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way either. It's a uniquely Northwestern behavior, this suspicion of pleasant weather. Perhaps its roots lie in pride for our rainy reputation (even though longtime residents know that the cliche isn't quite accurate—New York City gets more inches of precipitation annually). Our true signature is a drizzle, and we named our biggest music festival after an umbrella.

We complain (or do we boast?) about Juneuary, the propensity for November-style weather in months where most of the country is in flip-flops. But as a result, uninterrupted sunshine can feel ominous and unnatural. What is this, North Carolina?

Of course, sustained warmth is actually alarming. The National Weather Service reports that here in early June we already have elevated fire danger, before official summer has even hit. The dry conditions portend a bad smoke year, and heat dome memories haunt us with the knowledge that lying just beyond mere discomfort is the possibility that things turn deadly.

But aside from (justified) climate change dread, why do too many pleasant 70-degree days in a row just feel wrong? In Psychology Today therapist Wendy Lustbader suggests that picture-perfect weather can exacerbate inner problems. "The contrast between your inner troubles and the reality out there continues to goad you," she writes, citing Emily Dickinson's aversion to spring.

But though we may fancy ourselves the most peevish of Americans, Seattle doesn't actually rank in the list of the 50 most miserable cities in the country (New Jersey and California seem to overrepresent). Are we truly only happy when it rains?

Rather, I think this sustained sunshine inspires unease simply because we expect it to be rare. When beautiful days hit, we break out the paddleboards and cancel other plans. Laundry goes unfolded as trailhead lots fill with cars (and even more clothes get dirty). We assume there'll be a chores day tomorrow, or maybe the day after that, to stay inside to catch up on the Ted Lasso finale.

There is the root of a Pacific Northwesterner's unique meteorological despair: guilt. We live in one of the most beautiful parts of the country (dare we say the world?). It's impossible to hike every trail, paddle every waterway, picnic in every park—so we yearn for nature to tell us we're not the limiting factor.

My weather app tells me there might be clouds this weekend; for a minute there I saw the comforting streak of a rain icon, but that disappeared between refreshes. Looks like I'll have to plan some patio hangs after work this week, a Golden Garden visit maybe. After all, it would be criminal to waste this perfect Seattle weather. I won't be able to get any rest or finish those chores until the clouds come back and things feel normal. Poor me. Poor us.