I had never heard this expression before moving to Washington (go figure), but man alive is it ever appropriate. Juneuary can mean one of two things; the freakishly warm and sunny weeks of January or the horrible, horrible, horrible #%@&ing weeks of COLD BLOODY RAIN in June.
I was re-reading The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier by Bruce Barcott last night (because it’s an excellent read and because I appear to have run out of books), and he describes the feeling so well:
The Pacific Northwest boasts a long and honorable tradition of rain-soaked misery. […] The stuff puts you on edge. It feels as if nobody’s showered or shaved in three days. The civility that Northwesterners wear like a hand lotion washes away; some snap at one another, some just snap. About the ninth or tenth day, everybody looks at each other and says, “Goddamn it’s been raining.”
Even running intervals at the gym isn’t providing the necessary endorphins anymore. If anyone knows a better cure than I have found (burrowing under blankets on the couch, inhaling vitamin D, fattening foodstuffs and copious amounts of alcohol), please tell me now. My thighs/liver/friends will thank you.