And you can’t make me.

“Sooner or later,” wrote a friend last week, “you’ll have to say something. You have to respond.”

He was talking about a number of social-media posts emanating from my previous life — unflattering, to put it mildly, bordering on vile. I have access to them but (by choice) I haven’t read them. Several trusted friends have described to me the way I’ve been characterized, however.

These friends all offer me the same advice: Defend your good name. Set the record straight. You have to say something.

Actually, I don’t. And I won’t.

My ego doesn’t demand an opportunity to issue some sort of public rebuttal. Nothing that others say changes who I am, and nothing I say is likely to change hearts and minds.

I have nothing to apologize for and no cause for shame. I harbor no regret.

More than any of that, I’ve chosen to move on. Life — this life — is good.

So to readers of this blog who’ve run across the flurry of shitposting, don’t look for me to counter it here. It’s not worth my time or yours.

This morning felt like a good time to head out to the east slope and send a few rounds downrange. We had rain yesterday and overnight, and I always feel better about plinking when the woods are wet.

It’s not a crack-of-dawn proposition, though. Sure, the neighbors may be a quarter-mile away, but I don’t want my trigger therapy to be their alarm clock or the soundtrack to their breakfast. I wait ’til 10am to commence firing.

Today was my first crack at the improvised reactive targets I hung recently. That was fun, especially with .22LR. They held up respectably well.

I split time between rimfire and my centerfire coyote rig. With the latter, a bolt rifle chambered in 5.56 NATO, I ran both Federal Fusion 62gr SP and Fiocchi 50gr V-Max. A little Serbian M193, too, for good measure.

This wasn’t a bullseye session. I put emphasis on mechanics, positions (except prone) and bracing. The rifle is more accurate than I am precise, even on my best days, and right now I’m rusty as hell. I need the work.

Packing up afterward, I felt good. I’ll do this as often as prudent use of my ammo supply allows. Dry-fire practice, too.