An entry with a boring title

I tread here every now and then, and I have a lot to say, but when I get this tiny screen in front of me it is all gone like it was never there. It's like when you stand up from your chair and walk to the kitchen, and when your hand touches the handle, you forget what you were looking for. Was it a cup? A specific old dish you wanted to examine? Was it food? Tea? Cookies? Some can you suddenly remembered, and wanted to read the label for some weird reason that emerged in your subconscious?

Now I do remember. At least one thing.

About length of stories. It seems that when I get an idea, I instantly know whether it is an idea for a short story, a poem, a drabble, or a full-length novel. Most ideas are shorts stories, and they are easy to handle. I would like to start working on a novel again. It's just the genres of writing that disagree with me. I can write short stories of things that are close to me, because I know I don't have to explain too much. Therefore most of my personal angst goes to short stories. Longer stories are a different case. It is good to have one's imagination run wild, yes sir I can boogie, and getting started is easy. Creating new worlds, new characters, difficult relationships between characters... I love all that. The question is: Why don't I do it all the time? Why am I not working on a story? There is an idea of interlocking stories that would melt into one eventually. It's been written on the pages of my notebook for months. For more than 4 months. It's still only 6 handwritten pages in bad handwriting. It's kind of science fiction-ish mix of different stuff. I can't write too ordinary stories. I mean, short stories can be about going to buy milk and finding the love of your life, but long ones need a better story.

Truth is, I've been thinking that I'm after all a short story person. Still I would like to give a go, write a full novel. Why am I not writing it now?

I am a lazy person. I get nothing done and still I am worried that I get nothing done. I should just get something done. A part of me feels that I am not ready yet. The puzzle isn't complete. I am not complete as a writer. I am not complete as an experiencer. I need to wait because...something is coming. I don't know what it is, but it is coming. Maybe. I think. It could be. If it isn't, I've waited in vain.

How can I make a difference as a writer?