Look, Comcast, we need to talk.

It's been a wild few years. I invited you into my home at a time when I lived in a small basement studio apartment and needed Internet access. I had been with DSL for a few months, but we both knew I was just settling. You promised me more channels than I had ever seen in one place, many in startling, breathtaking clarity. I ditched Verizon and signed up with you and your attractive promotional rate.

I was so naïve back then.

Let's face the facts. I tried to love your digital cable service. I pretended not to care when the Discovery Channel dropped out, sometimes for days, even when you tried to blame it on me.

Maybe I should have listened to my friends. They tried to warn me about you, but I couldn't resist the way you streamed Netflix in HD.

Over the course of our relationship, you sent me five faulty cable boxes. Five! Who does that? Whenever someone came to swap equipment, you charged me thirty bucks. It should have only taken me two or three service appointments to realize you had no respect for me.

Also, your embarrassingly out-of-date user interface should have been a major red flag.

Oh, remember when I moved to a new apartment in a different neighborhood? You acted like you didn't even know me and raised my rates without warning. Sure, I tried to call and talk to you about it, but you put me on hold. For over an hour. I believed you when you said my call was important to you, but now I'm not so sure.

Don't get me wrong, we had some great times, too! You still have the fastest broadband in the city. Remember all those movie trailer downloads? The hours spent playing Xbox? The HD movie rentals? They wouldn't have been the same without you. And you have a great crew of people on Twitter covering for you.

I'm a different person now. Insanely fast downstream used to be enough for me, but now I need something more. I need reliability and consistency. I need to know my rates won't change arbitrarily. I need someone I can count on for Internet access without always trying to turn it into a Triple Play.

I'd ask you to please not call with your "special offers", and I'd ask you to not mail me glossy ads of happy-looking people enjoying your services. But I know you'll do those things anyway.

I'm boxing up your things, and I'll drop them by your office on my way home from work. Hopefully, we can end this with civility and without making a scene.

But if you charge me with a "Break-Up Fee", I'm calling the police.