Choose from popular face frame or frameless cabinet styles. Enter your cabinet’s rough width, height, and depth. Select your construction method — dados and grooves or simple butt joints like pocket screws. Add optional details like beaded face frames or baseboard molding. Include as many cabinets as your project requires.
Once your cabinet is configured, a complete parts list is generated instantly — with dimensions based on the construction method you choose. Hardware like drawer runners and door hinges are included automatically. Combine multiple cabinets into a clean 2D drawing you can share with clients or use for reference in the shop.
No downloads. No complicated software. Just enter your cabinet dimensions, pick your construction details, and get instant results. Whether you're sketching ideas for a built-in or planning a full wall of cabinets, CabinetPlans.io helps you move from concept to cut sheets in minutes. Create your first cabinet now — it's free to try.
Pick your cabinet type, enter rough dimensions, and select your joinery method — no CAD experience needed.
Get a detailed list of parts and materials based on your cabinet configuration, including doors, shelves, and face frames.
Printable cut sheets for plywood and hardwood, optimized to save material and reduce layout mistakes.
Combine cabinets into scaled 2D layouts for full walls or built-ins. Export the renderings as picture files that you can share with clients or use in the shop for quick reference.
Drawer runners, door hinges, and other common hardware are included in your parts list automatically.
Runs right in your browser — use it on your phone, tablet, or laptop with no downloads or installation.
"... by far the most intuitive cabinet software for home / small shop makers"
- Mike M.
I burned the contract.
The second run of the script happened three nights later, after I had convinced myself it was coincidence. This time, the captured lines were sharper, angrier.
If you ever find a paste titled GRG with a note to run at 02:07, you should know this: code can be a prayer. It can be a machine. It can also be an invitation. The file doesn't tell you what to do with the pieces. That part—what to keep, what to let go of—that's where the real work begins. grg script pastebin work
We organized, the odd coalition of small mourners and angry quiet people. We staged talks in libraries and ran small meetups where we practiced holding memory without packaging it. We taught people how to fold a paper four times and speak a name aloud before tucking it away. We called ourselves keepers—not custodians, not owners. Keepers.
Sometimes a memory made the rounds, then returned to us because the algorithm couldn't monetize the nuance. Those returns were small mercies: a couple of lines of a voicemail, a faded photograph, the ghost of a grocery list with tile blue. We labeled them with care and slid them onto physical shelves in the back room, where dust and time could do their quiet work unhurried. I burned the contract
The next weeks became a pattern. At 02:07, my inbox occasionally received another anonymous paste. I learned to run them through the archive protocol and to feed the machine with a mixture of curiosity and ritual: a candle, a glass of water, a scrap of paper folded four times. Each capture offered a shard: a parking ticket with a child's drawing on the back, an unsigned postcard with a sentence left undone, the smell of cigarette smoke trapped in a photograph.
"Grace was my sister." Her voice held the long, patient cadence of someone who had told this story so many times she no longer needed to choose words. "GRG is an archive. Not of people, exactly, but of the spaces between what we say and what we remember. I helped build it." If you ever find a paste titled GRG
That day, I tried to trace the pastebin. The link was anonymous, routed through layers of proxies. The email account was dead. But the words—the fragments collected by the script—kept visiting me. People I passed on the sidewalk wore tiny stories above their heads: a student muttering formulas into his sleeve, a woman staring at a wedding ring and not seeing the face, a dog owner apologizing to their pet for being late. The script had tuned me, or tuned itself through me, to notice those pieces.
